Once In A Lullaby
by arainymonday
Summary: On his way to Dalton to spy on the Warblers Kurt is transported to another world where all lost things end up. There he meets Blaine and gets a chance to find himself again. An AU Season 2 modern fantasy.
1. Book One: Over the Rainbow

**Disclaimer:** I'm just playing in the sandbox. If you recognize it from elsewhere, I don't own it.  
><strong>Ships:<strong> Klaine, plus Jeff/OC, Nick/OC, and other canon pairings  
><strong>Timeline:<strong> AU Season 2  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up to Season 3x02  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T for some swearing, sensuality, and violence

**Author's Note:** Hello, my name is Heather. I would like to say just a few words before you begin reading.

This is an AU fantasy. Some elements of Glee's second season will remain the same, but other parts will deviate significantly. I have borrowed some elements from Cecilia Ahern's novel _There's No Place Like Here_ (US) / _A Place Like Here_ (UK), all of which I explain fully in the story so there's no need to have read that novel (but it's a fantastic book!).

Sometimes readers will ask great questions that I wish I could share with the rest of the world. With a story like _Once In A Lullaby_, with such a complex and unfamiliar world, these great questions can be really important to the verisimilitude. So I've decided to answer questions from reviews on a blog for everyone's benefit. Also feel free to use the Ask on the blog to submit more questions. Once In A Lullaby Q&A (remove spaces): arainymonday. tumblr. com/tagged/questions_about_once_in_a_lullaby

I don't often use author's notes outside the first chapter, but that doesn't mean I don't want to get to know my readers. I would love to hear from you in reviews, PMs, Twitter, and my blog.

Thank you for clicking into this story. I hope you read and enjoy. Please review if you are so compelled and don't be shy. And now, the story begins ...

* * *

><p><strong>ONCE IN A LULLABY<strong>

**BOOK ONE**  
><strong>OVER THE RAINBOW<strong>

**INTERLUDE**

Burt Hummel sat in the dingy office with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Through the glass in the closed door, he could hear ringing telephones and many asynchronous conversations filling the police station. After ten minutes of waiting, Detective Caroline Hart walked through the door and took a seat behind her desk. Burt gazed up at the middle-aged woman over the tops of the picture frames lining her desk. Picture frames which Burt knew to contain the smiling faces of her children. The smiling faces she would see tonight when she went home.

"Mr. Hummel … We've talked about this before. If I find out anything, you are the first person I'll call. But otherwise, there is no point coming down to the station every day."

Burt ducked his head and ran his hands over his bald head. He sighed wearily and blinked at the moisture building in his eyes. Thirty-one days. Thirty-one days had passed since Kurt left for school and never came home again. Thirty-one days Burt had left the porch light on because the psychologist at the missing persons support group said a symbol of hope would help. Thirty-one days it had only made him cry every time he passed the front window.

"Listen. I can't just go about my life while my son is out there somewhere."

"Mr. Hummel, it's been thirty-one days, and we have no leads. We're not giving up, but there's nothing more we can do at this time. As I explained to you already, your son's case will be reviewed periodically – "

"So that's it? My kid has been pushed to the back of the line?" Burt demanded angrily.

"I want to find your son, Mr. Hummel. I want to find every child whose case file lands on my desk. Hell, I want to find every child ever listed in a case file. We have explored every possible scenario, likely and unlikely, with no success. The FBI Agents assigned to the case have gone back to Cincinnati. I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, but this long after his disappearance, the chances of finding Kurt are slim."

"No. No, I refuse to accept that. My son is out there somewhere. I know Kurt, and I know he's doing absolutely everything he can to get back home. So I'm going to do everything in my power to find him. If the police and the FBI won't help, then I'll go somewhere else."

For all her stern police detachment, Detective Hart had kind eyes. Throughout the investigation, she had been the one to deliver bad news time and again. When the FBI team had been harsh or blunt, she had softened the blow, and Burt had come to believe she wanted to find Kurt almost as much as he did. She reached into her top desk drawer and pulled out a business card.

"This is the name of a private investigator. He's the best in the business around here. But, Mr. Hummel, I have to say that I would be extremely surprised if he finds something we missed. That's not ego talking. Every detective and agent on this case is in agreement."

Burt accepted the stark business card and stared down at the name: Christian Woodsen. His agency was based in Columbus, a good two hours from Lima, but Burt would go to the literal ends of the Earth for his son. He nodded once to Detective Hart, whom he would not see again for three months unless some piece of evidence came to light, and left the police station.

He pulled out his phone and dialed the private investigator as he jogged down the steps and across the parking lot to his truck. As he listened to the ringing line, Burt reflected on the last thirty-one days. Losing his wife had been torture, and he'd thought he would never experience such profound anguish again. And then Kurt hadn't come home from school and he wasn't answering his phone and none of his friends remembered seeing him after glee rehearsal and …. And everything had spiraled from there.

Detective Hart and Agent Barring had interrogated every one of Kurt's friends, bullies, and teachers. They all said the same thing: On November 9, 2010, Kurt Hummel, 17, junior at William McKinley High School, had left the choir room after second period glee club and never showed up to third period French class. His car was found in the lot and all his belongings left in his locker.

How a student went missing from a closed campus during the school day, the administration couldn't fathom. A search of the school and grounds had turned up nothing. He had not been injured and left for dead anywhere on campus. Checking Kurt's phone records and computer raised no red flags. He had not been planning to run away. The bullies who had threatened Kurt so frequently had a reliable alibi: they were dumpster tossing Jacob Ben Israel. They had not escalated their tactics that day. No students or faculty reported seeing any suspicious person on campus.

The police were dumbfounded. Every time they thought they had a lead, it turned out to be a dead end. It was like Kurt had vanished into thin air. Like he'd disappeared through a barrier onto a train platform that shouldn't exist, like he'd stepped through the back of a wardrobe, like he'd been sucked up by a cyclone, like he'd flown past the second star and straight on 'til morning.

Kurt Hummel was nowhere that could be found.


	2. One

**ONE**

"Why don't you make yourself useful and go put some rat poison in those old folks Jell-O or visit the Garglers?"

Kurt pursed his lips at Puck's flippant suggestion and let out his frustration as a sigh and series of jerky movements. He collected his design boards and stormed out of the room. Not a single one of the other guys called him back or chastised Puck. Because that's how this glee club worked now.

Kurt didn't get a duet partner. Kurt could make himself useful by leaving.

Fine. If that's what they wanted, Kurt would go spy on the Warblers. He would drive across town by himself to another school where pampered rich boys would, in all likelihood, beat him up for spying. But fine. If that's all his friends thought he was good for, he would do it.

He stopped by his locker and emptied his messenger bag of school books, save for the sheet music he needed to practice for the boys vs. girls performance (if they even went with Kurt's superior suggestions in the end) and his French textbook. He did up his tie, pulled on his jacket, and shut the locker as quietly as a metal lock allowed.

Kurt had to take a detour around the Athletics hallway because he heard Coach Sylvester talking to Becky, and of course, she wouldn't allow him to leave in the middle of a school day. Probably she would use the attempt as an excuse to disband glee club again. He made his way to the handicap door at the back of the school.

A light rain had started sometime since school began and painted the concrete dark. As he trudged down the ramp, he dug around his bag for the compact umbrella he carried for situations such as these that could ruin his carefully coiffed hair.

Kurt stopped abruptly at the bottom of the handicapped ramp with his fingers frozen around the hard plastic handle of the umbrella in his bag. He had just exited William McKinley High School, and yet he clearly did not stand in the William McKinley High School parking lot.

To begin with, there was no parking lot, just a grassy knoll dotted with yellow dandelions and gray heather. In the distance, giant wind turbines rotated slowly. Beyond the turbines, the jagged teeth of low, gray mountains invaded the rain-washed sky. Kurt turned in a circle until he faced the door he had just walked through. Instead of seeing the metal doors of his high school, he found a white-washed wooden door connected to a greenhouse.

For a moment, Kurt could only stare open-mouthed. Before the initial confusion could even begin to wear off, the white-washed door opened and Kurt found himself face-to-face with a teenage boy a few inches shorter than himself. He had curling black hair and smiling hazel eyes framed by a pair of rectangular glasses.

"Excuse me," Kurt murmured. He sensed he was bodily blocking the other boy's exit, but he couldn't force his legs to move him to the side. "Can you tell me what's going on here?"

"You're new here." It wasn't a question. The other boy jostled a large, empty wicker basket he carried and held out his hand. "I'm Blaine."

"Kurt."

Only instinct told Kurt's brain to bring his arm up for a handshake. Blaine didn't release his hand, however. He dropped the wicker basket just inside the door, and gently tugged Kurt inside the glass-domed building.

"Come on. I'll take you to get checked in and explain everything."

Kurt didn't understand anything that was happening to him right now, except that a handsome boy named Blaine was holding his hand and leading him through rows of potted plants and hanging herbs. The damp, earthy scent reminded him of Ohio during springtime, but it was November; and the friendly, chatting voices of gardeners in the next aisle were not speaking English.

Blaine glanced over his shoulder at the new kid. He had the most beautiful blue-green eyes that darted around in every direction and the bewildered expression everyone had when they first arrived. It looked ethereal on his delicate face rather than panicked. Blaine nodded to Binaya as they passed, and she nodded back. Her English wasn't so good yet, so smiles and gestures were their only effective method of communication.

"You're probably confused right now," Blaine said to Kurt. "How long have you been here?"

"Just a minute ago I was walking out of my high school, and now I'm … where am I?"

"That's kind of complicated. We call our town Here. Capital H, proper noun. It kind of passes for a joke around here. This is the place where lost things are found. Socks, car keys, pets … people. Everything lost makes its way here."

Kurt stopped walking behind Blaine, who also reluctantly stopped. Although it would be much simpler to get Kurt checked in before they had this conversation, he could see that wasn't going to happen. He gestured to a bench overlooking the wind turbines through a wall of glass.

"What kind of joke is this?"

"I'm afraid it's not a joke. We all go through this when we first arrive, Kurt. We try to pass it off as a bad practical joke, a dream, an hallucination. But it's real. You walked out a door of your high school and wound up here. You're really here, in the flesh."

Kurt pinched himself and winced. Blaine chuckled lightly.

"But … I don't understand. How do you know that?"

"Philosophically speaking, I guess I don't. But I didn't know that about my old life either. Isn't there a scientific theory that human existence is a shared hallucination of a hive mind in another reality? Well, anyway, if Descartes is right, I'm here because I think I am."

"How intellectual of you."

Blaine laughed again. "My teachers will be pleased to hear their hard work has paid off."

Kurt flushed as soon as the compliment left his mouth. He blamed his confused brain and the shocking stimuli for making him babble the first thing that popped into his mind. He decided ignoring his conversational drivel would be the best course of action.

"So you have schools here?"

"We have almost everything you're used to, except for gas stations and cell phones. There are no fossil fuels here, and no one with the proper knowledge and ambition to reinvent cellular technology has been here. I'll show you around Here on the way to the administrative building."

"But there are lights. Electricity."

"Because we have wind, sun, and water here. You must have a thousand questions, and I promise they'll all be answered. But for right now, we really should get you checked in."

Kurt allowed Blaine to help him up from the bench and lead him outside the greenhouses. The light drizzle in the air felt good on his face after the humidity in the greenhouse. In the distance, the buildings of a town rose up from a verdant, hilly landscape.

"The greenhouses are right on the edges of Here so no other buildings block the sunlight. We have a little walk to the Administration, but that just means you get to see more of Here."

Kurt gaped as he took in the ranch-style homes and boxy storefronts. It all looked very 1930's and quaint, but the people milling about wore mostly modern-style clothing. The fashionista in him dated the clothes as several years old, but with a few newer items cropping up every now and again. There were no cars or paved roads, just wide and slightly uneven cobblestone sidewalks. The background noise was entirely different here. Instead of the buzz of speeding cars, there was a deep decibel thrumming from the wind turbines.

As they walked through the town, Blaine pointed out places of interest. He hadn't been exaggerating, Here had almost everything: grocery stores, hospital, school, playgrounds, restaurants, offices, warehouses, parks, post office, and more that escaped Kurt's notice just then. There was no bank, Blaine said, because there was no currency here.

"Was Here set up by idealistic Communists?" Kurt joked.

Blaine grinned. "No one is sure. Every couple of years someone will bring up the idea of paper money, but it never pans out. We all have our jobs here, and there are consequences for laziness and punishment for illegal activity."

"So there's a prison?"

"Hmm. One of the oldest buildings in Here, just like in Jamestown."

The Administrative building was a large limestone structure with a chiseled statue of a woman in aviation gear on the lawn. It looked not unlike the town square in Lima and every medium sized Midwestern town Kurt had ever seen. A steady stream of people moved in and out of the front doors.

"Around this way is where new arrivals check in," Blaine said, guiding Kurt to the north side of the building.

Fewer people used this door, but there was much more chaos around this side of the building. A woman babbling in an Eastern European language tried to fight off two other women attempting to get her inside the building. A little boy in his pajamas clutching a teddy bear was crying at the top of his lungs. Others looked shell-shocked.

"I take it I reacted to the news that I'd stumbled into a fantasy novel better than most?"

Blaine laughed lightly. "You did, indeed. Although it could be science fiction. Alternate realities and such."

"I hope not. I'd much rather have ended up in Oz than Earth-2."

The inside of the courthouse – or Administration, as Blaine called it – was just as Kurt expected: all limestone and dark wood with a slightly aged look that dated the building. A tall man with his hair cut in a severe style motioned them up to a desk.

"Kurt, this Soren. He's one of our Administrators. Soren, this is Kurt. I found him by the greenhouses about a half hour ago."

"And you have managed to stay calm. That is good … and unusual," Soren said, with a heavy Scandinavian accent. He side-eyed the frantic woman being dragged in through the double doors. "Did Blaine tell you about Descartes?"

"He did."

"Oh, so it finally worked?" Soren laughed. Blaine rolled his eyes. "I owe you the next three candy bars I find. Now, go sit over there while I have Kurt fill out the paperwork."

Soren had a lot of paperwork for Kurt. There was basic biographical information, the specifics of how he'd arrived in Here, and family and medical history. Kurt felt a little ridiculous filling all out paperwork when none of this could be real. But he kept Blaine's advice in mind, because staying calm seemed like a much better option than screaming and crying.

"Since Blaine found you, we'll just say he's your mentor, yes? Unless you want to request another?"

Kurt blinked at Soren. "Mentor?"

"Yes, to show you around and help you settle into life here. It is similar to your home, but also very different at times. It helps to have someone experienced to help you."

Kurt had no intention of staying here long. Maybe a few hours, until the end of the school day, but then he would be going home. But his hand ached from so much writing, and the panicked new arrivals coming through the door every few minutes set his nerves on edge. Anyway, he had no objections to spending those few hours with a handsome, intelligent, polite young man like Blaine.

"If Blaine is willing to show me around," Kurt said.

He craned around in his chair to observe the dark-haired boy sitting on a bench across the lobby. He had his legs crossed and was flipping through an ancient edition of _Vogue_. Kurt felt his heart flopping around in his chest. Sam's dyed hair had read as a blip on his gaydar, but Blaine was practically jumping up and down waving a rainbow flag.

Maybe he'd say in Here a little longer than he'd planned ….

Blaine glanced up from the magazine when Soren called his name. He'd been a little caught up in an article about a new television program called _Project Runway_. Kurt gazed at him with interest, and Blaine's breath quickened. Everything about Kurt intrigued him, from his insightful observations to his fashionable outfit, but nothing drew him in quite like the hopeful smile on Kurt's full lips and stars in his pretty eyes.

If Kurt wasn't gay, the world was a cruel, cruel place.

"Absolutely. I'd love to be your guide, Kurt. Actually, Soren, there's an empty room in my suite we've wanted to fill for a while."

Soren cast a knowing look at Blaine. Nothing escaped the former psychologist; it was one of the reasons he'd been selected for this job. He caught signs of deceit and delayed panic better than anyone, and he had enough empathy, minus condescension, to make new arrivals feel welcomed in Here. But he also read his friends equally astutely, which made it difficult to cajole any favors out of him.

"I think that will work on a temporary basis, but you know that will have to change if Kurt's career track is different than your block."

Blaine nodded and flashed Soren a grateful smile. The Dane shook his head with a roll of the eyes and went back to stamping Kurt's records and placing them into a file with an H tab on the side. Soren ended the check in by handing Kurt the standard information packet: a map of Here, warehouse schedules, ration tables, career track application, and a basic FAQ pamphlet that really only raised more questions.

"This is all very efficient," Kurt observed.

"We've had a long time and a lot of practice to perfect it." Blaine held open the door for Kurt. "You wouldn't believe how many people go missing every day. Not all of them end up here. Some of them aren't really lost, they're just missing or wandering around, but there are a surprising number of people in the world who lose their way."

Kurt furrowed his brow. "You make it sound like it's ordained some people will end up here."

"Maybe it is."

"I don't believe in higher powers and destiny," the taller boy said firmly.

"Neither do I. But I came to Here at a time when I had nowhere else to go. My life was torture, and I was angry about it all the time. But then I turned a corner – literally, I mean, I walked around a corner – and I ended up here. Everything changed then. I have friends, I'm happy. It's like I had to get lost to find everything I'd been looking for."

"I think you contradicted yourself."

"It wouldn't be the first time. What I'm saying, Kurt, is that no one who has everything they want at home stumbled into Here. We are, all of us, searching for something when we get here. Whatever it is you were looking for, maybe it's here somewhere just waiting for you."

Kurt glanced down at the cobblestone sidewalk beneath his boots. He had been searching for something for a long time now. As much as he loved his dad and his friends in New Directions, he felt alone all the time. His eyes flicked sideways towards Blaine, and he wondered if he hadn't found what he was looking for the moment he arrived.

"Well, then I won't waste this opportunity," Kurt said, standing up straighter.

"Glad to hear it."

After they left the Administrative district, Blaine led Kurt along a path that passed under a trellis arch with bougainvillea growing around a single word that sent thrills through Kurt: BROADWAY. He grinned so widely his teeth showed, and Blaine laughed lightly.

"That was my reaction too. All the performing artists live and work on our Broadway. There aren't many of us, and we all have other duties too, but … we're kind of like Here's version of rock stars."

"So … wait. You're a performer?"

"I'm an actor and a singer and sometimes a musician. I'm in our choir, and I love doing musicals, because they're like the best of both worlds."

Kurt's smile stretched so wide all his teeth were showing. He took a deep breath to try and get hold of his emotions, but the influx of air only made him feel even more lightheaded. He gripped the handle of his messenger bag tighter and followed Blaine into a brick building similar in style to how he imagined New York apartment blocks.

The ground floor was an open space with a hodge-podge of tables and sofas. The wooden stairwell twisted up the four floors leading off into hallways flanked by doors. Beside each door was a mail chute. Blaine left the stairwell on the third floor and turned the knob of room 305.

Two sofas and an armchair formed an open square in the moderately sized living room. Bookshelves built into the wall held battered songbooks and a small collection of VHS tapes and battered paperbacks. An old boxy television with a VCR, boombox, and classic Nintendo sat on a small entertainment center against the wall. Five doors marked 305A-E led off from the living room. Jackets thrown over the chair, scuffs on the wooden floor, and decoration on the doors gave the suite a comfortable, homey feel.

"It's a shame someone hasn't lost their Blu-ray," Kurt commented.

"A lot of people have lost their Blu-rays, but student dorms are the last living quarters to get upgraded. The Administration says we should occupy ourselves with studying, not entertainment. C is the bathroom. I'm in A, and D is the empty one. It's all yours … until Soren says otherwise."

The door creaked a little when Blaine pushed it open. The bedroom inside was much smaller and starker than the living room. A twin-sized bed dressed in dark blue sheets was pushed up against the wall, and an empty desk and wardrobe took the remaining space. Kurt dropped his bag onto the bed and turned to gaze at Blaine.

"What do I do now?"

"Well, we could take you to the warehouse to get some stuff. You should have a checklist in your information packet. Or I could answer more of your questions. I think that's what I'm supposed to do as your mentor."

"You think?"

"Yeah. I've never actually been a mentor before." Blaine scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I had one myself, though, so I kind of know what to do."

"How very reassuring."

Kurt sat down gingerly on the edge of his bed, so Blaine pulled out the cushioned desk chair and sat across from him. He waited patiently for Kurt to form a question.

"What were you doing when you found me? You had a basket."

"Oh. That's a hobby. I'm a finder. Lost things show up all over Here. I was going to walk through the hills and look for them. There are a lot of people to keep supplied, so a lot of us go finding in our spare time. That's probably where my roommates, Nick and Jeff, are right now."

"How many people live here? I mean, in Here."

Blaine considered. "About 7,000. But it's impossible to keep an accurate census with new people showing up randomly. Then there are all the births and deaths to consider too, although there is a lot less of the former. Mostly, families are made when lost children arrive and need a home."

"Wait. People live their whole lives here? Why not go home?"

Blaine gave a sad, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Kurt, but once you're here there's no way to leave. You can't go home again."


	3. Two

**TWO**

Kurt stared at Blaine for several tense moments, as if the words made no sense at all or Blaine had spoken in a foreign language he didn't understand. He blinked those entrancing blue-green eyes at Blaine like a patient teacher correcting a small child who had made an outlandish claim. And then the weight of the words hit home. His eyes widened, a spark of panic flashed through them, and his lips parted in shock.

"What do you mean 'no way to leave'? Of course I can leave. The rest of the world has to be out there somewhere."

Blaine braced his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. He thought for a few moments about the best way to explain.

"Here isn't exactly on any map you're familiar with. There are other towns just like this one, but you won't be able to find them. We only stumbled on their existence when the first radio towers went up about twenty years ago. We can speak to them, but no one has ever actually visited another town. I think it's because we were meant to find our way here and nowhere else. But the point is, no one who has gone searching has gotten very far. They all say that they got lost in the mountains and arrived back here."

Kurt listened with a stern, fearful mask. He shook his head slightly the more Blaine refuted his ability to leave. His hands clutched tightly to the edge of the bed and bunched the blue comforter in his fists.

"There has to be a way. People don't just vanish from the real world never to be heard from again."

"Of course they do. Didn't you see the statue in front of the Administration building? Amelia Earhart. And before her, there was John Cabot, Roald Amundsen, the entire village of Roanoke."

"You don't understand!" Kurt cried desperately. "I have to get back for my dad! He's all alone in the world without me."

Blaine breathed deeply. Knowing his parents had each other had given him some comfort when he realized he would be here for the rest of his life, and almost everyone he knew had followed that same logic to help them through the grief and anxiety of those first few weeks here.

"You don't have any other family?"

"No! Well … I guess he has Carole and Finn, but that's not … it can't be the same."

Kurt's skin had gone pale, and his lips were stark white. He released the bedclothes from his death grip and wrapped his arms around his torso while rocking slightly. Blaine inched forward in his chair. He wanted to reach out and comfort Kurt, but they hardly knew each other. He didn't know if Kurt liked to be touched when he was upset … or at all. Blaine licked and pursed his lips while he searched for the right words.

"Not the same, maybe, but – "

"No!" Kurt cried again. "No, it's not even close! I almost lost him, Blaine. Just weeks ago, he had a heart attack and was in a coma for days. The whole time, I thought he was going to die and no one could make it better. Not Carole or Finn or any of my friends. We've only had each other for nine years. And now I'm here, and his heart can't …. What if …. It will kill him if I don't come home."

Kurt's jaw quivered and his eyes filled with tears. He brought a fist up to his mouth to keep them at bay, but he was beyond controlling his emotions. Fat tears dropped from his red-rimmed eyes and skated down his pale cheeks. Kurt curled in on himself, and Blaine could only watch helplessly as the most tragic sight he'd ever beheld played out in front of him. There were no words or actions that could make this better or easier for Kurt.

"Kurt," Blaine said after a few minutes had passed. "We don't know each other well, but I do know how you feel. When I first arrived, I went through the same thing. Kurt, I can't fix this for you; I can't get you home. All I can do is be here for you."

"How do you stand it, being totally separated from everyone you love?"

Kurt's tear-clogged voice rent Blaine's heart. He felt tears pricking at the back of his own eyes at the depth of love Kurt had for his father and the dredged up memories from his own arrival three years ago. He blinked them away and pushed aside his own lingering pain to be there in the moment for this boy who needed a friend.

"I'd love to tell you it's easy, but it's not. With time, though, you'll make new friends and find new people to love. My roommates, Nick and Jeff, are like my brothers. Soren is like my cool uncle, and I'll introduce you to Cillian and Ciara. They're like the best grandparents who ever lived."

"When my dad woke up from his coma, I thought we'd have years more together. Now I'll never see him again, and I didn't even get to say good-bye this time. He'll never know what happened to me because I just vanished during school one day. Maybe I'll find new friends here, and maybe he'll marry Carole and adopt Finn. But it won't ever be the same. I'm an orphan after all, and one day he'll have to bury an empty casket in the plot next to my mom's. I don't think there has never been anything crueler than this."

Blaine could only watch with a tortured expression as Kurt's shoulders drooped and his chin hit his chest. He battled down his own emotions enough to recognize there was no consoling Kurt right now. He would have to find the will to go on alone. Too many new arrivals crumpled in on themselves. Consumed by anguish they ended their lives rather than starting fresh here or refusing to accept this as reality, gave themselves up to delusions in the sanitarium. No one could give Kurt the strength to make a life here.

"You should lay down," Blaine said gently.

Kurt didn't object when Blaine helped him unlace and kick off the complicated boots he had on or when Blaine turned down the covers on the bed. He loosened his own bowtie and shrugged off his charcoal gray jacket. He lay down with his face to the wall and back on the world. Blaine pulled the covers over his shoulders and indulged in the gentlest caress as he smoothed out a crease in the material.

"Courage," Blaine whispered.

**o o o**

Kurt didn't remember falling asleep, so he was surprised to find himself waking. His eyes burned and his cheeks itched from the tears he'd shed long after Blaine had gone. His pillow was still damp around his temple. The nap had not refreshed him at all. He felt groggy and grief-stricken and sick to his stomach. The covers over his shoulders made him too hot, so he kicked them off, only to instantly feel too cold. He would have lain in bed forever except for the need to use the restroom.

Reluctantly, after failing to ignore the call for a good quarter hour, Kurt pushed himself up into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Late afternoon sunlight through the rain-washed sky cast the stark room in pale light. He saw that someone, Blaine obviously, had neatly folded his jacket and bowtie and placed them on the dresser. His boots stood underneath. On the desk was a tray of food, some soup that had gone cold judging from the lack of steam, a turkey sandwich, and a cup of room temperature water.

The loud rumble in his stomach reminded him that he had skipped lunch to complete the unappreciated design boards for the boys vs. girls competition in glee. Just thinking about New Directions brought fresh tears to his eyes. He hadn't even begun to mourn his lost friendships, dysfunctional as they were. To distract himself, he focused entirely on the discomfort of his body. He chewed slowly on the turkey sandwich and found swallowing more difficult than it should have been.

When he could delay no longer, Kurt eased open the door to the common room. It was thankfully empty, and he slipped into the shared bathroom without interruption. While he used the facilities, he observed the room with a careful eye. The restroom was surprisingly clean for a space used by teenage boys. Any spot of dirt would be immediately visible on the white tile and cream wallpaper. A smallish shower behind frosted glass doors occupied one wall, and the toilet and a freestanding sink the other. On the opposite side, a large mirror mounted on the wall topped a long set of cabinets with two sets of outlets.

A schedule in the lower left corner of the mirror listed times Blaine, Nick, and Jeff used the bathroom. Nick and Jeff each had a half hour at night and a quarter hour in the morning; Blaine had a full hour in the morning, thus adding more support for Kurt's speculation of his sexuality.

Back in the common room, Kurt twirled around on the balls of his feet. There was still no sign of Blaine or the two other boys who lived here. He considered going back to his bedroom and pretending he'd never gotten up, but the thought of lying in the lonely bed so far away from everyone he cared about made his head ache. The clock said it was just after six o'clock, which probably meant the others were in the dining room having dinner, but sitting in a crowded room didn't appeal to Kurt either.

In the end, he thumbed through the paperbacks on the shelf and settled into the corner of the couch to pretend to read _A Wrinkle in Time_. He didn't know how long he stared at the black ink on the cream page before Blaine came back. The other boy stopped short in the door jamb, his smile fading into somberness.

"Hey, Kurt. Are you feeling any better?"

Two teenagers close in age to Blaine came into the room behind him. The first was about Kurt's height with straight black hair that flipped out around his ears and dark green eyes. The second had sweeping blond fringe and a pale complexion with a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

Kurt drew himself up into a confident façade and let the book fall shut in his hands. "A little," he lied easily. At this point in his life, pretending everything was fine came as second nature.

Blaine nodded a little, though the furrow in his brow told Kurt he didn't entirely believe him. He was thankful Blaine let it drop, though.

"These are my roommates, Nick Duval and Jeff Sterling. Guys, this is Kurt Hummel." He added with a slightly sheepish look at Kurt, "I told them about you over dinner."

The dark-haired one, Nick, and the blond, Jeff, greeted Kurt with a mixture of warmth and condolence. Kurt hadn't experienced anything like it since mourners came to his mother's wake with casserole dishes in hand.

Nick had a typical American accent with maybe a hint of New England in the endings of his words. Jeff had a thick Antipodean twang to his words that was either Australian or New Zealander, but Kurt never could tell the difference between them.

"We can …." Jeff motioned to the hallway. "If you want to be alone."

Like at the wake, Kurt felt the desperate need to sit quietly in the dark far from everyone and a cloying need to have other people close by at the same time. He thought having three people with him might be some kind of acceptable compromise so he shook his head.

"No, that's okay. This is your room. Just do whatever you normally do after dinner."

Not surprisingly, homework was the after-dinner activity of choice on a school night. The boys, including Kurt, grabbed their bags from their rooms and settled around the common room. Jeff came back into the room with a giant laptop that must have weighed ten pounds and whirred angrily when he turned it on. He had, cheekily, put dinosaur stickers all over the cover.

Laughter bubbled up in Kurt's throat, and the sound eased the tension out of the room. Jeff grinned appreciatively at his own sense of humor.

"I've never seen one that big before," Kurt commented.

"That's what she said."

Kurt's head swiveled in Nick's direction. Nick and Jeff high-fived over the back of the couch. Blaine cleared his throat in an attempt to mask his amusement. He loved his friends to death, but sometimes their brand of humor bordered on uncomfortable.

"Computers are hard to come by. Have you ever heard of someone genuinely losing their computer? They're stolen all the time, but it's pretty rare for a computer to be truly lost. So when one shows up, we keep it forever."

"Makes sense," Kurt said, casting another wary look in Nick's direction.

Jeff went to work typing up a paper on Jane Austen novels, judging by the number of times he thumbed through _Persuasion_. Nick wrote out long mathematical equations from problems in his Physics book, and Blaine used colored pencils to draw a plant cell diagram. Kurt had nothing else to do but look at his French textbook and do homework he would never turn in.

"What grade are you in, Kurt?" Jeff asked, while the ancient computer struggled to save his document.

"Junior. What about you guys?"

"Nick and Blaine are sophomores, I'm a senior. Normally, they would board us by year, but since we almost always have the same rehearsal schedule, we're the exception."

"And the school is on Broadway because …?" Kurt wondered.

"It's not. We call this our dorm, but really it's an apartment building for performers. The third floor is for students, so I guess it's kind of a dorm, but most of the other kids in Here live with their families or foster families," Nick explained.

Kurt was beginning to understand what Blaine meant about being like rock stars. A lull in the conversation accompanied renewed interest in their homework. Blaine finished first and stowed his books away in his bag. He joined Kurt on the couch.

"What are you reading?"

He held up his book to show the Eiffel Tower on the cover. "French. I took Spanish for two years, so I have – had a lot of catching up to do. I love French. I wish I'd started freshman year, but I was told Spanish was more practical."

"Maybe, but French will help you – "

A knock on the door interrupted Blaine, and he stood up to answer with an apologetic smile. Two girls stood in the doorway and threw their arms around Blaine. Kurt frowned a little, wondering if he wasn't wrong about Blaine's sexuality after all. But then the girls skipped across the room and greeted Nick and Jeff in the same way.

"We have a new arrival, if you'd like to calm down enough to meet him," Nick commented dryly, but with a little grin on his lips. "This is Kurt."

The girl currently sitting on Jeff's lap looked up sharply. She reminded Kurt very much of Rachel Berry with her penny loafers and short skirt-and-sweater combination. She even looked a little like Rachel with her long, dark hair and black eyes.

"_Salaam_. I'm called Hana El-Amin."

The girl sitting cross-legged on top of the table where Nick worked grinned easily at Kurt. She had short blonde hair, pink oval-shaped plastic glasses, and the kind of trendy style copied from Young Hollywood tabloid snapshots.

"Dagny Faraday. Are you American?"

When Kurt nodded, Dagny threw her arms up in victory. Jeff, Blaine, and Hana groaned.

"What am I missing?" Kurt wondered.

"You won me a warehouse ticket each, so pay up!" Dagny demanded, wiggling her fingers at her friends. "I said the next stray we found would be a fellow American, but the foreigners were in denial. Don't worry. I'll split the winnings with you, since you're getting me that jacket I've had my eye on since it showed up."

"Here is an international town," Blaine grumbled, passing over a slip of blue paper the exact size and shape of Monopoly money.

"What kind of jacket?" Kurt wondered.

"Green military style with distressed steams, mismatched brass buttons and gold thread work. It will look awesome with that black and gold scarf I sto – borrowed from you, Hana."

The description intrigued Kurt. He accepted the two blue tickets she held out to him and examined them closely. They read simply WAREHOUSE TICKET along the top with a brief description of what the blue variety purchased, namely clothing.

"In case you missed it, Hana and Jeff are dating. Dagny and Nick would probably date if she wasn't too old for him, but will probably end up together sooner or later anyway," Blaine explained.

Kurt took a breath. Now was the perfect time to find out for sure if this gorgeous boy was actually gay, and therefore potentially someone special, or just another straight boy he would crush on hard and be hurt by in the end.

"So, Blaine, do you have a girlfriend?"

Dagny laughed derisively from the tabletop. "Do _you_ have a girlfriend, Kurt?"

"Dagny!" Hana scolded her friend. "Filler!"

"Filter," Jeff corrected softly.

Blaine tried to work his mouth into something serious. "Uh, no. I don't have a girlfriend. I'm gay."

Fireworks burst to life in Kurt's chest, and he couldn't quite manage to fight off the smile spreading over his lips so widely his teeth showed.

"Oh. Me too," he said quietly.

Blaine had already guessed as much, but it thrilled him to hear Kurt say it out loud. He tried to keep a smile at bay because Dagny would give him hell for it, but he didn't quite accomplish it. The blonde opened her mouth to say something, but Hana threw an eraser at her friend.

"We brought a movie, if you'd like to watch it now," Hana said, deftly changing the subject. "It took forever to find a good movie on VHS, so I hope you haven't changed your mind."

"What is it?" Nick wondered, trying to peer into Hana's backpack as she riffled through it.

"_Trolls 2_," Dagny deadpanned as she jumped off the tabletop.

Kurt laughed appreciatively with everyone else. He slipped his French book back into his bag and resituated himself on the couch so he faced the old style television and VHS player. He felt his breath quicken as Blaine slid over next to him, ostensibly to make room for Nick to sit down, but closer all the same. Jeff threw himself into an armchair, and Hana slid into the seat next to him while Dagny fed the tape into the slot.

"Thursday is movie night for us, because if you try to get a movie on Friday, you really will end up watching _Trolls 2_," Blaine explained.

Dagny settled herself into the armchair perpendicular to Nick's end of the couch and flicked off the lamp. The common room was plunged into darkness for a few moments before the title sequence of _Never Been Kissed_ began playing. Kurt gasped lightly and clapped his hands while Nick and Jeff groaned.

Kurt let himself get lost in the romantic comedy and the wonderful Miss Barrymore's fragility. When the credit began rolling and someone flipped the lights back on, he was shocked to find himself still in the common room with these five people he had just met today.

"Hey. Are you doing all right?" Blaine asked.

Blaine ignored Dagny and Hana gathering up their things and sliding the movie back into its sleeve in favor of gauging Kurt's mood right now. He looked pale again, and something damaged shone in his eyes.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

He hesitated, but let it slide. As much as he liked Kurt, they had only met a few hours ago. He didn't expect the other boy to immediately open up to him about his every thought. Blaine got up from the couch to hug the girls goodbye.

Hana skipped around the armchair to wrap her arms tightly around Kurt. The top of her head fit neatly under his chin.

"_Laila sa'eda wa ahlaam ladida_," she said into his chest.

"I have no idea what that means," Kurt admitted.

"It translates to goodnight and sweet dreams, but it means you are my new friend and I will see you soon. We'll walk to school together tomorrow, yes?"

"I'd like that. _Laila sa'eda wa ahlaam ladida_," Kurt replied.

Hana giggled at the botched pronunciation and squeezed him tightly one more time before letting go and pulling Dagny out the door with her.

"Do you need time in the bathroom tonight or tomorrow morning?" Blaine wondered.

"An hour and a half in the morning. I'll take the slot in front of yours."

When Kurt fell into bed fifteen minutes later (because he didn't have any moisturizing creams for his nightly routine), he closed his eyes tightly and wished fiercely that he'd wake up in his own bed come morning.

The wish did not come true.

* * *

><p><strong>A Note on Translations: <strong>I don't speak Arabic, so I have no way of knowing if these phrases are completely accurate. I found them on . If you do speak Arabic, would you mind sending me a PM or mentioning in a review if they are accurate or, if not, how to fix them? Thank you to anyone who can help!

Hugs and a huge thank you to sillygleekt who helped me with the Arabic greetings.

_Salaam. _= "Peace." (Informal version of the traditional Arabic greeting "As-salamu alaikum" = "Peace be with you." Used as "Hello.")

_Laila sa'eda wa ahlaam ladida_ = "Goodnight and sweet dreams."


	4. Three

**THREE**

Getting out of bed the next morning ranked among the most difficult things Kurt had ever done right after standing over his mom's grave and coming out to his dad. The finality of waking up in Here, of the reality of the situation sinking it, put a pit into his stomach. All his fears descended on him at once – being separated from his dad forever, what that would do to his already damaged heart – and he wanted nothing more than to curl up under the covers and sob himself back to sleep.

But his dad would hate for him to do that, to waste even one day of his precious life. So Kurt swung his legs over the side of the bed and trudged into the bathroom. He found a note taped to the mirror.

_Kurt,_

_I forgot to give these to you last night. They might be a little big, but I think you're closer to my size than Blaine or Jeff. It will work until you can get your own._

_ Nick_

Hanging off the mirror frame was a garment bag. Kurt breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to wear the same clothes he'd worn yesterday on his first day at a new school. His heart clenched at the idea. His first day at McKinley had started in the dumpster and ended with cherry Slushie dripping in his eyes. His only hope was that being – well, not friends exactly, but – around "rock stars" would earn him a little protection.

He let out a squawk of indignation when he unzipped the bag. The navy and red t-shirt was just barely acceptable, but the blue jeans were cut in an entirely unflattering style. For several minutes, he stared at the outfit like it had insulted him. He would just have to tell Nick the clothes were too big and wear dirty clothes to his first day of school.

Resigned to his fate, he turned on the tap in the shower. The pipes screeched before a jet of water sprayed from the showerhead. He let out a yelp of surprise when he put his hand under the flow to test the temperature. It was scalding. Almost three minutes of gradually angling the arrow towards the cold side passed until he got the water cool enough.

Geothermal heating, apparently, produced much hotter water than gas or electric. The hot springs under Here also meant water pressure didn't need to be so carefully regulated as back home. The pounding stream of piping hot water felt glorious on his shoulders and back.

"Suave?" Kurt grumbled, as he took the shampoo bottle from the shower caddy. "There's a gay guy living here, and they have _Suave_ hair products?"

In the end, Kurt couldn't subject his hair to the abuse. He elected instead to just use conditioner. The bar of soap ("Ivory? … Okay, this is just ridiculous.") wasn't much better, but that he did deign to use, but only this once.

Blaine sat on the couch in the common room waiting for his turn in the bathroom and listening to Kurt muttering about their choice of hygiene products. Honestly, he did have a point. When Nick had told the warehouse clerk to give him "whatever," Ayo had taken her opportunity to unload the stuff no one else wanted, and Blaine had decided Nick was never allowed to buy communal items again.

But if Kurt thought they had an abundance of Nexxus lying around, he was in for a rude awakening. Unopened toiletries were a rare find and strictly rationed by household. Blaine's preference would have been to gel his curls down and wear contact lenses, but those items were nearly impossible to find in large quantities, and no one in Here had a special talent for manufacturing either.

The hairdryer turning on deafened the sound of his complaints, and Blaine laughed heartily when loud curses came from behind Nick and Jeff's doors. The clock said it was quarter to six in the morning.

Kurt came out of the bathroom just a little after six. His hair was less poufy than yesterday, but he looked beautiful nonetheless. Blaine ran a hand through his thick, messy curls self-consciously.

"It's all yours. Shall I wait for you here or …?"

"You don't have to. We all usually meet for breakfast downstairs at seven."

"I'll wait."

While Blaine went through his morning routine, Kurt loitered in the common room and fiddled with his messenger bag. He didn't have much in the way of school supplies, but a notebook and pens would suffice for one day. The checklist in his cheekily titled "You are Here" welcome packet listed items students received each month. He assumed he would get all of that after school.

Blaine came out of the bathroom an hour later dressed adorably in tight dark wash jeans and a maroon cardigan. His bowtie was a little crooked, and he watched in fascination as Blaine's long, slender fingers worked it into its proper place. His curls had been tamed by a small amount of gel and the hairdryer.

"So …" Blaine did a little twirl. "A little different than yesterday, but I was finding, and you never wear your best clothes to do that."

"It suits you."

Nick picked that moment to stumble out of his room and into the bathroom. Jeff followed in the same manner ten minutes later, not even caring that Nick's quarter hour wasn't up. Waking up before the sun was definitely worth avoiding the bumbling, straight roommates.

Blaine wrangled everyone out of the room just before seven and led the way down the flights of stairs to the ground level. Along the way, he introduced Kurt to a few other students. There weren't many school-aged performers. Hana lived with two other girls in the room down the hall and that was it. Amara and Ebele were tall, slender, ebony-skinned twins from Nigeria with not much interest in associating with anyone except each other.

"Where's Dagny?" Kurt wondered.

"She's older than us, not that nineteen is old at all," Hana replied. "She doesn't have to go to school, so she doesn't wake up early to eat with us."

Kurt saw now what Blaine meant about Dagny being too old for Nick, who was fifteen. He offered his arm to Hana out of habit. Whenever one of the New Directions girls walked beside him, he was accustomed to their hand slipping into the crook of his elbow. Hana accepted with a grin that lit up her whole face, but the action made him ache for Mercedes or Tina or even Rachel's company.

Breakfast in the dining room was nothing like what Kurt expected. He was accustomed to plastic trays filled with disgusting, tasteless food. The room on the ground floor was more like a buffet-style restaurant. An older man with white hair and wild, bushy eyebrows and a flower apron tied around his waist stood behind a counter flipping omelets. A woman about the same age with long salt-and-pepper hair tied back sliced up cantaloupe.

"So this is our new arrival," the woman asked with a lilting Irish accent. "Welcome, dear, welcome. And shame on you, Blaine, for not bringing him around yesterday!"

She swatted at Blaine with a napkin, and then pushed a plate of juicy cantaloupe slices over the counter at him. He grinned back widely, and much to Kurt's surprise, leaned far over the counter to drop a kiss on her plump cheek.

"Kurt, this is my grandmother, Ciara, and my grandfather, Cillian."

"You're confusing the poor boy," Cillian said. He put a mushroom, sausage, and cheese omelet on Blaine's plate. "We're his foster family, the ones who raised him when he arrived. Same for all the kids who end up as working performers. What do you take in your omelet, Kurt?"

While Kurt selected his ingredients, Nick and Jeff leaned over the counter to kiss Ciara's cheeks. The old woman waved napkins at them too. Hana ran around the counter to give her foster grandmother a hug. Even Amara and Ebele had a kind smile for her.

"Do you drink coffee?" Blaine asked, as he shook cinnamon into his cup.

"I don't suppose you could whip up a latte?" Kurt sighed wistfully.

"As a matter of fact, I can," Blaine said, beaming. "We sto – acquired some Starbuck's equipment from the warehouse."

Kurt accepted the mug with an amused grin. He wondered if he could "acquire" a thesaurus to look up all the synonyms for "steal" he expected to hear.

The boys and Hana took a seat at a round table by a large plate glass window looking out on the brick wall of the building across a tiny alley. Blaine dragged over a fifth chair while everyone else scooted closer together to make room for their new addition.

"You boys!" Ciara scolded from across the room. "There are fourteen open tables!"

Kurt shared an amused glance with her, because she was right; there was an entire room full of larger tables. Jeff dragged Kurt into the chair between himself and Blaine. They talked about nothing important over breakfast except to give Kurt some information about his new school.

"It doesn't have a name. It's the only school in town, so we just call it school."

"It's only about a fifteen minute walk from here. Five if we commandeer Cillian's electric cart and pile on, but we've stopped doing that since he hurt his hip again."

"You should meet with our guidance counselor before school to sign up for classes."

They piled their plates in the large bin behind the counter when they were done, and the others gave Ciara parting kisses on the cheek. The grandmother patted Kurt's cheeks fondly on his way out.

The school was a couple blocks off the walkway from the Administration to Broadway and across from a play park. Kids of all ages made up their way up the steps and into the boxy red brick schoolhouse. Some parents had walked the younger children to school, but mostly they came along in small groups.

The inside of the school looked remarkably like McKinley, and Kurt supposed, every other school built circa 1940 and updated over the years.

"Secondary students are this way and all the way to the back," Blaine said, pointing to the left.

"There are about 900-ish students, but junior class is the smallest. You only have about 40 in your year. There are actually 138 sophomores. The whole thing is patently unfair," Nick grumbled.

"Forgive our friends' obsession with numbers," Jeff laughed. "He's just worried he won't be class valedictorian because he has too much competition."

"I'm not worried!" Nick snapped a little too vehemently.

"We should get you to the front office."

Hana let go of Kurt's arm and waved good-bye while skipping backwards as Blaine led him to the office suite shared by the principal/guidance counselor. He waited outside while Kurt went in for the meeting.

Edwina Ferris was a plump woman with rosy cheeks and a lopsided, sagging smile that hinted at a stroke sometime in the past. A pair of reading glasses dangled from a delicate chain around her neck, and she put them on as he read over Kurt's registration card from his welcome packet.

"Where did you rank in your class? I don't suppose you'd taken the SAT or ACT already?" the principal asked.

"Fifth in my class," Kurt said, with a little prideful smile. "I would have been higher if not for gym class and Coach Tanaka's discrimination against the less athletically inclined. I scored 1440 on the PSATs."

"Then we'll put you on the College Track." She took off her reading glasses and peered across the desk at Kurt. "It will be a challenge academically at first, but anyone with a 1440 PSAT can handle it. We don't have a university in Here, but we do nurture our bright young people. Your teachers were all professors or experts in their field on the other side."

She slipped her glasses back on and went through the schedule of classes with Kurt, who elected to take a literature, government, linguistics, economics, and musicology class this term.

"You look happy," Blaine observed.

"I feel like a college freshman right now. I wasn't challenged at all at McKinley, and now I'm signed up for Anglo-American and Irish Literature to 1910 and Comparative Political Systems. I know it's going to be difficult, especially starting in the middle of the semester, but I'm a little excited about it too."

The wonderment faded from Kurt's face as soon as he realized what he'd said. Heaps of guilt piled on his conscience. Five stupid classes had made him forget how miserable he was supposed to be right now.

"Hey. Don't do that, Kurt. Listen, I know this is tough. I've been there. But the people you love back home, they would want you to make the most of the life you have here. It's okay to let yourself be happy."

"Last night, my dad probably left a couple messages on my phone and assumed I was out with Mercedes or Tina. He went to bed early, because his heart is weak and he gets tired a lot sooner than he used to. Right now, he's realizing I never came home."

Kurt's voice caught in his throat. He couldn't bear to think about what his dad must be going through at this very moment. He would tear the house apart, look in the driveway for Kurt's car, start calling all of his friends.

"If you're not up for this today, I can talk to Mrs. Ferris. You wouldn't be the first new student to need a couple days. We could go the warehouse and get your stuff. It's almost like real shopping."

Kurt breathed deeply, but shook his head. "Thank you, Blaine. I'd like to do that, but after school. What I really need right now is to go to class."

His first class was musicology, and while it wasn't the same as singing out his emotions in glee, it was as close as he could get right now.

School in Here turned out to be much more difficult than Kurt had imagined. The teachers – whom he quickly began to think of as professors – used words outside the realm of his vocabulary and explained complex concepts as if they were only trifles on the way to true academic study. By lunch, Kurt had a 10-15 page analytical literature paper, 8-10 page comparative musical performance styles paper with 5-7 minute presentation, and list of supplemental reading to learn Italian conjugation.

If anything good came of the most academically intense morning of his life, it was that the speed and amount of information overwhelmed his brain, and he couldn't dwell on what was happening back home.

After lunch, he was similarly inundated. He had five short papers to write on various government models and a stack of worksheets for economics. All of this on top of the blanket assignment from every class: read the entire textbook.

Kurt was so exhausted he almost forgot about Blaine's offer to take him to the warehouse.

"Don't worry. You'll get used to it," Blaine promised. "I come from this nowhere town in Alberta, so it's not like our faculty were bursting with advanced degrees. No one is going to be too hard on you while you're adjusting."

Blaine put a reassuring hand around Kurt's shoulder and led him down the street in the opposite direction they had taken to school. He didn't say that he'd had trouble concentrating all day thinking about how Kurt was doing and how much he wished they had some classes together so he could pass reassuring notes.

"Alberta," Kurt mused. "You're Canadian?"

Blaine nodded. "I lived in a suburb of Edmonton. I am not going to say _eh_ … unless it would make you laugh."

Kurt cracked a smile.

On their way to the warehouse, Blaine explained how the system worked. On the first of each month, everyone who did their job with due diligence received in the mail an envelope of vouchers – warehouse tickets – with which to purchase their belongings, plus any dependents they had.

Everyone received three blue vouchers for clothing, which included all items from socks to winter coats; four green vouchers for food, which worked on a "fill a basket" principle; and one yellow voucher, which could be used for any item. Each household shared a white voucher for toiletries. Twice a year, in June and December, the warehouse clerks did an inventory. Everything that hadn't been purchased in three years was put on a "clearance rack," and there was a big market day festival.

"So you're telling me an Armani suit would cost the same as a package of underwear? You people need to get your priorities straight."

Blaine laughed. "We do. There isn't a single person in Here who would pick the Armani suit. Do you have any idea how rare an unopened package of underwear is?" A shiver passed up Kurt's spine. "Don't worry. Seamstresses will make you most clothing items in exchange for one of your blues if you buy the cloth with your yellow."

Boarders at Ciara and Cillian's were expected to give over their green vouchers because they cooked communal meals.

"Saving up all your other vouchers is advisable. You never know when the item you want most in the world will arrive. Dagny likes to gamble, and she'll try to rope you into putting up your whole savings. Don't do it. She's too good."

"This sounds a lot like the rationing during World War II."

"It is. The system was set up by a British woman who arrived around that time. It's worked perfectly ever since then. We don't want for much in Here, but it's because we don't waste what arrives."

The word warehouse brought to mind a dark hangar-like building with metal sides and high windows, but the warehouse was nothing like that. It looked like a typical department store that took up an entire city block. Mannequins and displays occupied the cases in front, and shelving units and clothing racks made up the inside of the warehouse. Kurt felt like he might have just stepped into Sears for all the hodge-podge of items he saw on the shelves: clothes, tools, appliances, home décor, and more beyond his line of sight.

Blaine wheeled a small, yellow cart with squeaking wheels out of the cart corral.

"Do you have your list?"

Kurt nodded. "Give me a moment. I'm having a surreal experience."

Blaine laughed lightly at the faraway look on Kurt's face. He braced his arms on the cart's handle and waited for Kurt to indicate he had reconciled the discrepancy of something so familiar showing up here. When Kurt started walking down the main aisle, Blaine followed with the squeaky cart.

"Can I see the list? It's been awhile since I've done this."

Kurt handed over the checklist from his welcome packet. The Administration was pretty generous with new arrivals to get them comfortably settled into their new life here: five complete outfits, three accessories, two pairs of shoes, jacket, winter coat and items, toiletries, four hobby-related items, all necessary school (for students) or professional (for adults) items, and five miscellaneous items "to assist in your transition to living in Here." There was a separate section of household items for anyone living alone which wouldn't apply to Kurt.

"Only five outfits?" Kurt balked. "They can't be serious. Kurt Hummel never wears the same thing twice … except today, which I had a legitimate fashion reason for doing."

Blaine placed a gentle hand over Kurt's to get the other boy's attention. He looked into those widening blue-green eyes with kindness, but firmness too.

"He does now."

Kurt sighed deeply and turned to survey the clothing department. The closer he looked, the more he realized how this was not very like Sears after all. Instead of being arranged by style, the racks were ordered by sizes. No two items on the hangers or folded on the shelves were identical. It was rather more like Goodwill.

There would always be yellow vouchers, he told himself.

The fact that the clothes were all secondhand didn't bother Kurt. He would never admit it out loud, but most of his clothes were. A mechanic's son from Ohio could hardly afford to pay full price for all those designer outfits. Searching through these clothes for the diamond in the pile of coal felt rather like clicking through eBay and Craigslist.

Blaine stood back and watched as Kurt thumbed through practically every item in his size, one size smaller, and one size larger in the entire department. He wondered if clothing could count towards Kurt's hobby-related objects because shopping made him look happier than Blaine had ever seen. Vibrancy radiated from his eyes every time he paired the right shirt with the right pants.

"I can tell you are going to be a particularly good finder."

Kurt beamed. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"Oh, it is. It definitely is."

Kurt held up a long heather gray sweater that looked suspiciously like women's clothing. Blaine glanced around, and sure enough, realized they had strayed over to the women's items. He almost said something, but the way Kurt pushed hangers holding dresses down the rack made it pretty clear he already knew.

Blaine eyed the outfits Kurt had arranged over the side of the cart. He seemed to be looking for designer clothes in a variety of styles, but everything still looked pretty basic to Blaine and not at all like the outfit he'd worn yesterday. It wasn't until Kurt started swapping pants and shirts that he realized Kurt wanted his wardrobe to look diverse even if it wasn't.

"The bow tie you wore yesterday with that one would make it look completely different," Blaine said, pointing to an outfit.

Kurt's face lit up. "And my suspenders with this one. Oh my God, shopping with another gay guy is amazing! Okay. Which shirt should I pair with the sweater? Maroon or blue?"

Blaine's eyes flicked between the two button downs Kurt held up. He cocked an eyebrow. "Oh my God! Are you testing me!" Kurt lifted a brow. "Definitely the _iceberg_ to bring out the color of your eyes. The _aubergine_ would make your complexion too ruddy."

If Kurt looked happy with the bow tie suggestion, it was nothing to his current breathless joy. He practically quivered with delight.

"Come on. Let's go get you some shoes."

Kurt skipped up a step to walk beside Blaine. His heart pounded in his chest, and he couldn't catch his breath. He would never hear the word iceberg again without getting that same lightheaded dizziness.

Picking out shoes and accessories to match the outfits was fairly simple, especially since he already had boots, bowtie, and suspenders. Finding school supplies too was straightforward. Kurt spent considerable time searching through the health and beauty aisles to find the highest quality products which made Blaine smile fondly.

"Those aren't part of the voucher items," Blaine said, nodding at the bottle of moisturizer Kurt held in hand. "Shampoo, conditioner, body wash or soap, shaving cream, razor, deodorant, and mousse, gel, or hairspray only."

"But … that's … No. No, I will not go without my moisturizer. This is my exact brand, Blaine, and it's unopened! What are the odds of that? It's like I'm meant have this."

"Except that you don't believe in fate," Blaine countered. "But you can get it. You have five freebees. Just don't get used to it, okay? It might never show up again."

Kurt didn't want to think about the day when he would have to go through the agony of finding another brand of moisturizer that worked with his skin. He was just going to have save up his yellow vouchers and horde his moisturizer. He also put a mani/pedi kit into the cart and deliberated over a facial mask.

"Would anyone object to me taking eggs, yogurt, and honey from the kitchen?" he asked.

Blaine shook his head, looking supremely amused. Kurt let the package fall back on the shelf. With all of his items in the cart, except for his freebees, they went back to the clothing department. Kurt, apparently, was going to argue the case that shopping was a hobby.

"Where are all of the music and movies?" Kurt wondered suddenly.

"In the library. All intellectual material is considered the property of everyone in Here. We can stop by on the way back if you want to check something out."

Kurt shook his head. "That's all right. I think we'll have enough to carry. I can browse later."

They made their way to the check out. As the clerk checked off each item on the list, she had Kurt go select a suitcase from a rather large area to the left of the checkout. Many of the bags still had airline tags on them.

"Is this like a surprise bonus gift?" Kurt wondered. "Pick out luggage lost by the airline and get all the items inside?"

"They're empty," Blaine laughed. "The suitcase is yours to keep."

He selected an upright, wheeled suitcase made with blue-green tartan fabric. The tag indicated the case had been lost between New York and London. The clerk tore off the baggage tag when she started packing Kurt's new belongings inside. The fact that all his possessions could fit into one suitcase thoroughly depressed Kurt.

"I know I sound like a broken record, but … you'll get used to it," Blaine said, as they left the warehouse. "After a while, you'll hardly notice that most of your belongings are shared. It takes some time to get used to the community mindset. Don't hate me for saying it, but … it takes Americans the longest. I could tell you horror stories about Dagny."

"I don't think I could ever hate you."

Blaine grinned and bumped his shoulder against Kurt's. The taller boy ducked his head and blushed at the cobblestones beneath his feet. A high wind from the east kicked up golden leaves that skittered across the walkway in front of their feet.

"Let's get you unpacked. Everyone will want to meet you at dinner, and Friday nights are kind of bedlam anyway."

Kurt's smile flickered and died. His knees felt too weak to carry him any further, and he sank down onto a low garden wall in front of a little green bungalow.

Blaine doubled back quickly and took a seat next to Kurt. His mood had changed so drastically there was really only one explanation for it. Something he'd said had triggered a memory of home.

"What's going on, Kurt?"

He spoke with a strangled sob in his throat, "Friday night dinners."


	5. Interlude: New Directions

**INTERLUDE**

Shocked silence filled the choir room as Finn finished addressing the glee club. Mr. Schuester had already heard the whole story and stood beside Finn in a show of solidarity. The teacher kept his hand on the tall boy's shoulder and squeezed lightly when his voice shook. He relayed the whole story, in complete detail, from the time Burt called to ask when he'd last seen Kurt to the arrival of the police at the Hummel's house to a sleepless night talking to a special FBI team.

Tears streamed down Mercedes and Rachel's cheeks. Despite all their differences, Kurt had made them friends by insisting on sleepovers and shopping dates. They wrapped their arms around each other now, trying to give comfort when they felt none themselves.

Tina's shoulders shook in the tight circle of Mike's arms. Moisture splashed onto Mike's thighs and darkened the denim. He thought they were Tina's tears until her thumbs brushed at the wet trails on his cheeks.

Brittany stared at Finn with wide, innocent eyes and a serious frown pulling at her lips. She blinked once, twice at him and then stared into the middle distance. Santana took one of her best friends' hands and squeezed so tightly all of Brittany's fingertips turned white. Artie took her other hand, much more gently, and turned his head to hide the guilt written on his face.

Tears splashed down Quinn's cheeks and fingers pressed over her parted lips. Beside her, Sam hung his head so that his blond fringe shielded his face.

Puck had his head in his hands.

"This is my fault."

"It's not, Puck," Artie said quickly.

"You were all there! I told him to leave!"

"Dude," Finn said, evenly, "he never actually left school. They found his car in the lot. No one knows what happened after he left the classroom."

"Exactly!" Puck shouted, jumping from his chair. He kicked the one in front of him, and it bounced down two risers and across the choir room. Mr. Schue made a move towards him, but stopped. "If I hadn't told him to leave, we all would have walked out together."

"You don't know that, Puck," the teacher interjected. "Going through the 'what if's is natural, but it's not going to help the police or FBI find Kurt. I know I didn't help him as much as I should have. But right now, what we all need to do is take a few moments, okay? The FBI team wants to talk to all of you individually. They'll be calling you out of class today, and you need to be calm to give them any useful information you can. Now, I know that's not going to be easy, but we need you all to try."

Rachel removed her arms from around Mercedes and came to the front of the room next to Finn. She took her boyfriend's hand as she addressed the glee club.

"I don't want to do anything right now except cry for my friend, but like Mr. Schuester said, that won't help Kurt. We all know that Kurt isn't religious and doesn't believe in a higher power, but he does believe in music. I propose that we sing to him. A group number start to finish. No solos. I know it sounds silly and childish, but maybe if we sing with enough voices full of enough love, he'll feel it wherever he is."

The glee club nodded with grim determination.

"What song did you have in mind, Rachel?" Mr. Schuester asked.

"One I'm sure we all know from our childhoods: _Somewhere Out There_."

Tears came faster; attempts to suppress them became harder. Mr. Schue pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes and turned away from his students for a long moment.

"That's a perfect song, Rachel," the teacher said. "If you guys don't mind, I'd like to join you."

Brad began playing the opening notes while Finn, Rachel, and Mr. Schue joined the rest of the glee club on the risers. As one, they sang a melody for Kurt.

"_Somewhere out there_  
><em>Beneath the pale moonlight<em>  
><em>Someone's thinking of me<em>  
><em>And loving me tonight.<em>

_Somewhere out there_  
><em>Someone's saying a prayer<em>  
><em>That we'll find one another<em>  
><em>In that big somewhere out there.<em>

_And even though I know_  
><em>How very far apart we are<em>  
><em>It helps to think we might be wishing<em>  
><em>On the same bright star.<em>"

* * *

><p><strong>Credits:<strong> Lyrics from "Somewhere Out There" from _An American Tale_ by James Horner, Barry Mann, Cynthia Weil


	6. Four

**FOUR**

Dagny used the back of her right index finger to push her glasses up her nose as she leaned in close to the mirror with a little frown marring her lips. Sometimes she didn't recognize the person in the mirror. When had she lost her baby fat? The rosiness in her cheeks? But this was how she looked now, and there was no changing it.

She grabbed her new green army jacket off the peg as she left her apartment and pulled it on in the hallway. She couldn't wait to show Kurt what his arrival had bought her. He was such a cute little stray; she was happy he had come to their home. Jeff was sick of being the newest arrival, and now they all had Kurt to mollycoddle, so that was good.

"Think of the devil," Dagny said.

Kurt and Blaine mounted the stairs dragging a tartan suitcase between them. Her smile faded at the paleness of Kurt's cheeks, and Blaine shook his head subtly. She stood to the side to let them pass, frowning up at their climbing forms.

"What's wrong with you?" Jeff called from the bottom of the stairs.

Dagny galloped the rest of the way down and punched him in the upper arm. She liked to pretend that she and Jeff were siblings so she could physically assault him without punishment. He threw an arm around her shoulders and tugged her towards the dining room.

"Our stray is having a hard time adjusting."

"He's worried about his family," Jeff said. "Blaine told us a little at dinner yesterday."

"You don't think it's … like my adjustment, do you?"

Jeff tugged her closer and angled his head towards her. If Dagny stretched to her full height, they were almost eye level. Jeff only had to dip his head to rest his temple against hers. She breathed in contentedly.

"No. I think it's more like mine. I would talk to him about it, but I don't know him very well yet, and that's not something you just bring up with someone who doesn't know you or trust you yet."

When they entered the dining room, they found Nick and Hana dragging a heavy wooden table under the plate glass window overlooking the narrow alley and brick wall. They rushed over to help lift the solid table into their favorite spot.

"I think this might have been in vain today. I'm not sure Kurt will be joining us tonight," Dagny commented. "He looked pretty upset when I passed him on the stairs."

Hana frowned at the ceiling, as if she wanted to go make everything all right for Kurt. Jeff leaned down to kiss her lightly. She was distracted enough by her boyfriend that she lapsed into forgetfulness until Ciara called her over to help get the dishes out.

The easy intimacy between the couple left Dagny and Nick nervously dancing around each other, and Jeff sighed a little at the sidelong glances they kept throwing at each other. He pulled out one of the straight-backed chairs and threw himself into it. He wished he could grab his friends, shake them, and get them to just talk about it already.

"He's only been here twenty-four hours," Nick said sensibly. "Think about how you all were after twenty-four hours."

Nick's eyes slid sideways to Dagny, and he cringed. She shook her head, as if to reject the idea that she needed to hear an apology.

The rest of the building began trickling in for dinner over the next quarter hour. Ciara and Hana brought the platters and bowls of food out onto the counter when most everyone had arrived. Not everyone had dinner together every night, but Fridays were special days. Everyone ate together before walking over to the theater for the first of their three weekly performances.

Blaine came down briefly to fill a plate of lasagna, salad, and breadsticks for himself and Kurt. Cillian stopped him before he could go back upstairs.

"Blaine, wait just a moment, will you?" The grandfather took a breath and leaned heavily on his cane. "You're a responsible young man, Blaine, but you can't handle everything on your own. Do you want me to go up there with you and have a talk with your new friend?"

"Thank you, but no. Kurt doesn't want to be around a lot of people right now."

Cillian nodded sadly. "All right. I'll leave you to it for a little while longer. I may have arrived here forty-two years ago, but I still remember like it was yesterday. If he's not snapping out of his funk in a few days' time, though, I'll have a sit down with him and see if a lot of age and a little wisdom can't get through to him."

Blaine disappeared upstairs just as quickly, and no one expected to see him again for the rest of the night. Andreas stopped by their table to warn Hana that if Blaine didn't feel he could leave Kurt, they would be changing the set list and giving her his solo spot.

"Hana!" Jeff cried. "Two solos! You'd have as many as Andreas and Cillian!"

The petite brunette blushed to her ears and flapped a hand to keep her boyfriend quiet. Jeff threw his arms around her and dragged her close, almost off her chair, as he placed kisses along her cheekbone and temple. Laughing, she struggled away from him.

"Stop! You're making a scene!"

Across the table, Nick and Dagny stared down at their plates and pushed around their food until the sickeningly sweet couple across the table toned down the affection. Nick happened to glance up right as Jeff offered Hana a bite of his cheesecake. He sighed deeply.

"I cannot wait until you two are done with this honeymoon phase," Ashleigh sniped as she walked past the table. Katya, Cho, and Daniel agreed emphatically from the next table.

Rather sheepishly, Jeff and Hana untangled their limbs and slid back into their own seats.

"I think it's great that you'll have two solos, Hana, but I don't think Blaine should skip this performance. This is a huge deal for him, and if he doesn't sing, that sends the wrong message to Ciara," Dagny grumbled.

"She would never hold it against him for staying with a friend!" Hana cried.

"Maybe not. But think about all the people who lost a solo for Blaine to have one. And I'm not talking about Jeff and me. Do you really think Moira or Ryan will vote for him to have a solo next time if he doesn't sing tonight? It's all …," Nick trailed off.

"It's all what?" Hana asked, looking to the native English-speakers at the table to complete the phrase she'd never heard before.

"Politics," Dagny said, quietly.

Hana's jaw snapped shut. An uncomfortable silence fell over the table for a few moments while someone tried to think of anything they could say to ease the tension.

"I know you two," Jeff said at last. "You're going to go off and scheme, and that's fine, but make sure Kurt isn't alone here, okay? I was alone too many nights when I first arrived."

Nick and Dagny nodded in unison, a silent promise which they wouldn't break because it was Jeff who they'd promised.

**o o o**

"Thank you for staying up here with me," Kurt said, for the fifth time.

Blaine's jaw paused chewing a mouthful of lasagna, and he rolled his eyes a little. Kurt ducked his head a little sheepishly and speared another forkful of salad.

A knock on the door prompted Blaine to set down his plate on the coffee table. Dagny leaned against the door jamb with a frown on her lips. He knew what this was about before she said anything, and waved her into the hallway while he pulled the door closed.

At first, Kurt tried to continue eating his salad, although he wasn't hungry at all. His mind kept jumping to home and wondering what his dad was eating for dinner, if Carole and Finn had come over to stay with him or if his heart had already given out and he was eating hospital food or in no condition to eat at all or ….

Just explaining to Blaine the importance of Friday night dinners helped some, but Kurt had missed so many in the past few months. After his dad's heart attack, he'd been diligent about making time for him, but that been just a few piddling weeks.

Loud voices distracted him better than the salad. Out in the hallway, Blaine and Dagny were oblivious to the level of their voices.

"Blaine – "

"Don't, Dagny. Kurt needs a friend, and he knows me better than anyone else here, so I'm staying. Whoever takes my solo spot tonight will do a great job."

Kurt's fork clattered onto his plate. There was some kind of performance tonight? And Blaine was giving up a solo to … eat dinner and watch an ancient movie on VHS? As someone who had to practically throw temper tantrums to get a solo in class (and who had never had one at a public performance with a real audience), Kurt couldn't fathom passing up the opportunity for anything, much less a person he'd known for a day.

"I'm sure Hana will do wonderfully, but that's not the point. I get that you want to be there for Kurt, and that's amazing, Blaine. He couldn't have a better friend right now, and I would know. But you've been waiting for tonight for how long? You're finally singing lead in front of an audience! Except you're not because our stray needs a friend."

"I'm not just going to leave him alone!" Blaine snapped.

Kurt threw his hands up in the air because this was absurd. No matter how miserable he felt, he was not going to sit here and become a charity case. He didn't ever want, at any point in the future, to look at Blaine and say: 'Remember that time you passed on singing a solo to eat dinner with me and watch _Trolls 2_?' (Because it _was_ a Friday night, after all).

"Did I suggest that? I'm saying that you need to go kill your solo and let someone who sings like a dying cat stay here with Kurt."

"You don't sing like – "

"Yes, I do. But you're sweet to pretend I'm even a little bit good."

The door opened to reveal Kurt in the black and charcoal trench coat he'd gotten from the warehouse that afternoon. He was wrapping a scarf around his neck and arching his brow in Blaine's direction.

"So where is this performance taking place?" he inquired.

"You were eavesdropping?" Dagny wondered.

"No, but you were pitching your voice especially loudly."

Blaine discovered that once Kurt made up his mind, he became an immovable object. He would not back down when Blaine suggested, insisted, and cajoled him into staying in the common room like he'd so clearly stated he wanted to. Even when Dagny offered again to stay with him, Kurt wouldn't hear of it. He had decided he was watching Blaine perform, so he was going to watch Blaine perform.

The rest of the performing company was heading out the front door when Blaine, Kurt, and Dagny came downstairs. They joined the flow of singers, dancers, and actors making their way down the cobblestone Broadway to The Wonderland Theater.

"I have a feeling your tenacity and my tenacity are going to clash violently at some point," Dagny commented, linking her arm with Kurt's. She slipped her other arms through Blaine's. "Let's hope it's over something like choreography and not, you know, friendship-y stuff."

Kurt's lips formed a reluctantly smile. "So you can't sing, but you're a dancer?"

"Our very best," Nick said, turning and walking backwards. "She can't tell the difference between middle C and high F, but she can dance on the tips of her toes for hours, so we don't tease her about it."

"I did once," Jeff chimed in. "She kicked me with a cleat. It was very painful."

Dagny rolled her eyes. "It was a tap shoe."

"I'm pretty sure Dagny can tell the difference between middle C and high F," Hana protested, but it was lost in a stream of friendly teasing.

The Wonderland Theater was a dark red brick building on the corner of Main and Broadway. The illuminated marquee announced: The Carrollers starring Cillian O'Leary, Sara Reyes, Andreas Kokinos, Hana El-Amin, and Blaine Anderson. A long queue stretched from the ticket booth around the corner onto Main, and the people in line waved and called well wishes to the performers going in the side door.

"We can go right in," Dagny said, ushering Kurt to the front of the line. A few people pretended outrage, but then laughed and shouted greetings to Dagny.

The inside of the theater was decorated in deep forest greens and gold with accents of browns and pale pinks. Low lighting from the chandeliers cast long shadows around columns and doorways. The effect made the interior look like a magical forest. A giant mural at the bend in the stairs leading to the mezzanine depicted a fantastical landscape of Irish faeries darting around a dancing blonde woman.

"Is that you?" Kurt asked innocently.

Dagny laughed. "Only if I'm much older than I look, which would be so ironic you don't even know. Cillian commissioned that mural almost forty years ago when he built the theater. It's Ciara. He unveiled it the night he asked her to marry him."

Kurt cooed at the romantic story.

They entered the seating area through the middle set of double doors. He couldn't imagine where so many matching theater-style seats had been found or if Cillian had made them all. They took seats down front, which Dagny justified taking because this was Kurt's first time at The Wonderland.

The audience began to file in a few minutes later.

"I've never seen a theater quite like this," Kurt said, craning his neck to take in the intricate crown molding and filigree work. "Cillian did all of this himself?"

She nodded. "He was inspired by some old crumbling theater in Belfast he used to go to when he was kid. You haven't seen anything like this before? Really? You must be from a small town." She cringed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to go there."

"It's fine. Where are you from, then, that you've seen so many theaters like this?"

"Palo Alto. Not that my family is so into theater or anything, but the ballet studio where I took lessons as a kid was in the Castro, and we drove past places like this all the time."

Kurt groaned. "You could not have made me more jealous if you tried."

A sad smile flickered over Dagny's lips. "There are outsiders even in glorious San Francisco."

The lights dimmed to warn the audience the show was about to begin, and Kurt forgot to press Dagny for more information in the bustle that ensued. A little boy in neatly pressed khakis, tucked in cornflower blue shirt, and bowtie took the seat next to him. He babbled excitedly about the show to his parents even while his mother forced him out of the seat and onto her lap.

"They're beyond a full house," the man said, leaning over his wife and son to speak to Dagny. "Everyone's excited to hear Blaine's first official solo."

Kurt felt eager about it himself and he'd known Blaine just a little over a day.

A middle-aged man with wavy graying hair and an olive complexion took the stage in front of the closed forest green curtain. He spoke in an accent that might have been Slavic or Greek, Kurt wasn't sure which. He promised some of The Carrollers' best numbers and a few new selections. The audience clapped enthusiastically when the lights went down, leaving only the stage lights brightening the curtain.

The heavy velvet swooped back a moment later and music swelled up from the orchestra pit. Kurt's jaw fell open. The Carrollers were … a show choir? The assortment of teenagers, middle-aged adults, and elderly choir members dressed in matching outfits of green and silver: the men in slacks and jackets, the women in dresses with bows around their waists.

Cillian danced down to the front of the risers, surprisingly spry for his age and bad hip. He sang with a rich, clear baritone voice untouched by age. Kurt didn't recognize the song or the language, though he placed the heavy percussion and fiddle as staples of Irish music. When he belted out the final note and held it, the audience whooped and leapt to their feet.

The Carrollers never disappointed. There were a few group numbers between each soloist, including a couple a cappella songs. The number of singers on stage varied, but there were never less than five. Kurt noticed that the older members tended to vacate the risers during the more vigorous dance routines. Blaine had a very curious dance style that Kurt had never quite seen before. He clearly tried to do the choreography, but he got overenthusiastic and ended up bopping around the stage a little randomly at times.

The second soloist, a small Spanish woman, had a high, lyrical voice that brought tears to Kurt's eyes with her rendition of _On My Own_. The third soloist, the same man who introduced the The Carrollers, came to the front of the group to cries of "Zorba! Zorba!" from the audience. Kurt would swear to his dying day that Andreas Kokinos was Pavarotti's vocal twin.

Kurt and Dagny cheered wildly when the music switched to something more modern, and Hana danced in front of the show choir and sang _Bubbly_ in a pretty mezzo voice perfectly suited to pop music. Kurt could imagine hearing her voice on the radio.

The _Bubbly_ music segued into another familiar pop song as Hana and Blaine traded places. Kurt perked up, intrigued that Blaine had chosen to sing a girl's song and anxious to finally hear his voice solo.

"What's he doing?" Dagny hissed. "This isn't …"

As he danced across the stage, Blaine's eyes found Kurt's as he started to sing, and there wasn't a doubt in Kurt's mind that this song was for him. Heat flooded his face, but he couldn't look away from Blaine's steady gaze.

"_Maybe sometimes, we've got it wrong, but it's alright_  
><em>The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same<em>  
><em>Oh, don't you hesitate.<em>

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favorite song_  
><em>You go ahead, let your hair down<em>  
><em>Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,<em>  
><em>Just go ahead, let your hair down.<em>  
><em>You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow.<em>"

If someone had asked Kurt a day ago what kind of song he would want a handsome boy like Blaine to sing to him, he would have said a love song without hesitation. But now, listening to Blaine's beautiful, crooning voice singing _Put Your Records On_, he couldn't imagine any better song than this one. Even though it was a song about friendship and not love, it was chosen just for Kurt and said just what he needed to hear at that moment, and that depth of consideration meant more to him than any love song.

Kurt knew there were other songs sung after Blaine's. Cillian brought the house to its feet again. But Kurt's head was full of only one voice that kept a perpetual toothy grin on his face and blush on his cheeks.

Kurt Hummel had fallen hard for Blaine Anderson.

* * *

><p><strong>Credits:<strong> Lyrics to "Put Your Records On" by Corinne Bailey Rae.


	7. Five

**FIVE**

The next couple of days passed with a kind of familiarity for Kurt.

On Saturday afternoon, a modern dance troupe called The Darlings took over The Wonderland, and he was able to see firsthand Dagny's skill. Saturday evening, the band that had played for The Carrollers performed a symphony of Led Zeppelin songs. Sunday, they watched Jeff, Nick, and a small cast in the dark comedy _Crimes of the Heart_.

"Is it the same every weekend?" Kurt wondered.

"Never the same. We have to keep our public entertained," Blaine said, with a self-deprecating smile. "During the off season, we form whatever groups we feel like and put together a show. Once you're part The Wonderland Company, you're given that freedom. We tell Ciara we're ready, and she adds us somewhere in the schedule. Some groups are regular, but the set lists change."

Before each performance, all the actors, singers, dancers, and musicians ate a meal together and walked down Broadway to The Wonderland. The camaraderie with a touch of rivalry between performance artists was something Kurt understood and could relate to. It made him feel more comfortable here, but also made him miss his friends in New Directions terribly.

He didn't have a lot time to mope, however. The performers not on stage worked backstage, and Kurt was invited to make himself useful. He situated himself in wardrobe with Ciara and dealt with a steady stream of torn hemlines, popped buttons, and ramshackle alterations.

When he wasn't working backstage at The Wonderland, he was furiously reading, researching, and writing his class papers. There was an Internet in Here, but not of the same variety as at home. The information was not a few search terms and clicks away. For the first time, Kurt had to do all his research inside the library, take notes by hand, and type up his paper hours later on Jeff's laptop.

Before he realized the weekend was over, Kurt's alarm clock went off Monday morning. Just like Friday, he had qualms with the bathroom facilities, but at least he had his own clothes. Breakfast with Blaine, Nick, Jeff, and Hana went as it did on Friday, and they walked to school under a blustery, gray November sky.

"I've been meaning to ask," Kurt began. "It is November, right? But if only lost things can come here, then how is the weather so normal?"

"It's not normal," Jeff said quickly. "It's bloody backwards, mate. I arrived in the middle of January, you know? It was a nice, pleasant day with a fresh breeze off the harbor, and then _BAM!_ three feet of snow and pneumonia."

"What he means," Nick said, trying not to laugh at Jeff's outrage, "is that the weather patterns are fairly close to those of the upper-middle latitudes of the northern hemisphere."

"So we're somewhere in Europe or North America?"

"You haven't looked at the stars yet, have you?" Blaine asked. "There's definitely no Big Dipper or Orion in our sky."

"I'm sorry, but … are you saying we're on another planet?"

Everyone laughed lightly.

"Kurt, you could talk the rest of your life about all the possibilities," Blaine said, trying to work the grin off his face. "But, no, we've never found evidence that we've been abducted by aliens."

The countertenor huffed at his friends. "You never answered my question about the weather."

"Weather can't be lost because it belongs to no one," Nick stated, "which is a philosophical way of saying that meteorological events are the result of scientific processes that cannot be moved from one place to another. The moon will always control the tides, the rotation of the planet will always control the seasons."

Kurt was an intelligent young man and followed the logic well enough, but informative as Nick's explanation was, it didn't answer his question.

"The ecosystem of Here is stable," Nick went on. "It's not made up of lost things."

"Then why are the stars different?"

"Strictly speaking, they're not. Our stars are the Southern Cross, which is only visible from the Southern hemisphere of Earth."

"What our scientific friend is saying, although he will deny it," Hana said sweetly, "is that Allah created Here for us to live a better life. You would all be much happier if you stopped debating over alternate realities, fantasy worlds, and alien abductions and just accepted that we were all brought here for a reason."

Her pronouncement was met with silence from all four boys. It didn't seem to faze her at all that no one agreed with her theory. She was perfectly content with living here, and it showed in the perpetual smile she wore.

"I don't believe in any higher power," Kurt said, at last, defiantly.

"Everyone finds peace in their own way. I hope you find it soon, Kurt."

**o o o**

The school did not provide lockers for College Track students. Like their undergrad counterparts at home, they were expected to carry around all their books and supplies in a backpack. The locker-free hallways of the College Quad, as it was called, lulled Kurt into a false sense of security.

He didn't realize how naïve he'd been until Nick and Jeff waved goodbye at the door to their Medieval Russian Literature class and Hana had disappeared into the Linguistics tutoring room for her English lessons. He and Blaine walked down the corridor talking about everything and nothing that happened this weekend, and maybe Kurt was throwing flirty little smiles at Blaine which he would have never done so openly in the halls of McKinley.

"What's up, homo?" a harsh male voice called.

Kurt flinched. Instinct prepared him for a Slushie in the face or the pain of shoulder blades hitting cold metal. But the abuse never came because the body that flew into the concrete wall was not his. Kurt watched in shock as two beefy hands slammed into Blaine's chest, and the curly-haired boy flew backwards. His head hit the wall with a sickening thud, and his glasses slipped down his nose. Fear, shame, and resignation flashed over Blaine's face.

All Kurt could think for a few seconds was: _So that's what it looks like_. Because he'd never seen anyone else get locker checked. Or wall checked, if that was a thing. Then his senses kicked in.

"Hey!" Kurt screamed at the broad, retreating back. "What is your problem?"

A large, muscular boy in slightly too big jeans and a white print t-shirt turned to glare at Kurt. He didn't have a letterman jacket, but he might as well have. The situation was all so familiar that Kurt at first had the crazy notion that Dave Karofsky was here too. The boy in question had platinum hair, icy blue eyes, and was built like a rower. He would have outmatched Karofsky in height by several inches.

"I'm sorry, Lady Voice, did I hurt your boyfriend?" the boy sneered. The Southern twang in his voice caused Kurt's eyes to roll, as if to punctuate how predictable this was. "You rolling your eyes at me, boy?"

A hand on Kurt's forearm pulled him backwards down the hallway. He wanted to protest, but Blaine's grip was unrelenting. They burst through a set of metal double doors into the quad full of barren flower beds and stone picnic tables empty on this chilly morning. Now that the adrenaline of the situation had worn off, Blaine's resolve vanished, and he sank onto a low stone wall. Kurt took a seat next to him.

"Hey. Are you all right? I know how much locker – wall checks hurt."

Blaine winced as he rolled his shoulders, but nodded. "I'll be fine. So I take it you were taunted at your old school too?"

"I was the only kid out of the closet at my school, and there was this one guy who made it his mission to make my life Hell. It was getting too much to take, but there was nothing I could do about it. I talked to one of my teachers, but – "

"– he didn't seem to really care? He was sympathetic, but you're gay, so your life is just going to be miserable."

Kurt released a shuddering breath and turned to meet Blaine's eyes. A moment passed between them when it was absolutely clear how similar their experiences truly were, and whatever lingering hesitancy they had about leaping head first into a friendship in this strange scenario vanished. The walls Kurt so carefully constructed to hide how much the bullying got to him fell down in an instant, and he saw in Blaine's eyes a vulnerability he hadn't before.

"'Lady Voice' is one of the nicer things I've been called, if that tells you anything. Locker checks were actually one of the less painful methods at my school. Slushies in the face and dumpster tosses were worse." Kurt let his messenger bag slip off his shoulder and onto the ground. "I don't know why, but I assumed the bullying wouldn't happen here. Everyone's been so nonchalant about the way I dress and talk, and you're popular."

"You've spent most of your time on Broadway, Kurt. They practically expect it. Here might not be like what you're used to in a lot of ways, but it's still populated by humans with all their prejudices and ignorance. I would love to tell you that Here is a utopia, but it's not. There's a jail and a hospital and a cemetery here because we're all just humans."

"Are there any other out gay kids at school?"

Blaine nodded. "There are a few. We have a GSA too. Not everyone here is horrible like Parrish, but he and his friends are bad enough. They're violent, Kurt, and I don't mean they'll throw you in a dumpster. Not long after I got here they …" Blaine took a shuddering breath and kicked at some loose dirt with the toe of his shoe. "… they beat the living crap out of me. I was in the hospital for a week. That's where I met Dagny, so I guess something good came of it, but I really wish I could have made friends with her minus the cracked ribs."

Kurt had a hand pressed over his lips. Blaine tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it only came out as a quivering in the corners of his mouth.

"I'm doing a poor job of being a mentor."

The pale boy shook his head. "No, you're not. Blaine, I've never had anyone to talk to about this before. I mean, no one who really understood."

"That's not the definition of a mentor."

"Then forget about being a mentor. Be my friend, and I'll be yours, then we don't have to be alone anymore."

A smile passed over Blaine's lips until it reached his eyes and lit up his whole face. Kurt beamed back. Blaine took his hand and pulled him up off the stone wall. Kurt's heart flopped in his chest.

"Come on, friend. We have class, and the morning bell is going to ring any minute."

**o o o**

Kurt had never hidden who he was. Even before he came out, he had always dressed fashionably and embraced his soprano voice. He didn't intend to change because his new school had bullies like the ones at McKinley. In fact, once Kurt had realized his clothing choices irritated his bullies to no end, he'd started dressing even more ostentatiously. He wished he could do that here, but his tragically limited wardrobe prevented it.

He heard the first rumor Tuesday afternoon. A new face in school was nothing to these students who saw new arrivals on a weekly basis. But a new kid who defended Blaine Anderson against Jonas Parrish? That was something to talk about. It wasn't until Wednesday morning that someone was actually brave enough to ask openly. A redheaded Swiss girl called Camille Guerin, who sat in front of Kurt in musicology, turned around in her chair, and propped her elbows on his table.

"So, Kurt. Are you dating Blaine Anderson?"

He froze for a moment with his pen halfway through the word 'staff,' and his eyes flicked up to meet her steady green gaze. He wished he could say yes, but he and Blaine hadn't broached anything resembling the topic.

"No. But I am gay."

Confirmation of his sexuality spread around school like it had at McKinley, only hampered by the fact that these kids didn't have texting and Facebook to fuel the rumor mongering. Parrish didn't take the news well judging by his intensified glares and shouted insults in crowded hallways. Kurt had dealt with that for years, and he knew how to pretend it didn't bother him. He strode down the corridors with his head held high and a flounce in his step.

"That was very brave of you to tell the truth," Hana said, when they walked down the hall with linked arms.

"I've been out of the closet for a year, and I'm not going back in."

Of course, the bullying did bother him, and whether he showed it or not, Blaine knew.

After the final bell rang on Wednesday, Blaine found Kurt loitering in the quad waiting for everyone to meet up and walk back to Broadway. He put an arm around Kurt's shoulder and guided him towards the south exit of the quad, which they rarely used. He thought he might have startled Kurt a little because the other boy's breath quickened, but he relaxed under Blaine's touch after a moment.

"There's something I want to show you."

The south exit wrapped around the back of the school and connected to a walkway lined on both sides by empty flowerbeds that wended over a sloping hill around to the greenhouse. Blaine called out a greeting to the gardeners, who waved back with smiles when he gestured to the wicker baskets in the supply room. He selected two medium-sized baskets and handed one to Kurt.

"You had one of these when we met."

Blaine nodded. "I was on my way to go out finding, but that was a different greenhouse. The best place to go finding is in the hills or the forest. Since most of us don't spend a lot of time outside of town, arriving stuff tends to pile up."

"I am not traipsing through the forest in these shoes," Kurt insisted.

"Does it look like there's a forest around here, silly?" Blaine asked, bumping Kurt's shoulder.

The taller boy flushed and ducked his head. He followed Blaine up the first rolling hill without any more objections. Wide steps made a path through the shaggy grass that was covered in dandelions and heather during spring and summer. The chilly wind blowing from the north put the scent of saltwater in their noses, and Kurt turned around in a circle, craning his neck to see into the distance. At the crest of the hill, he paused and cocked his head at the small lake. A wooden wharf ringed the body of water, but most of the docks were empty. The fishing boats, canoes, and kayaks had been stored for the winter already.

"That's not a saltwater lake?" Kurt said, caught between a statement and a question.

"No, it's freshwater."

"But the smell? I've never been to the ocean, but I think that's what it's supposed to smell like?"

"It's a phantom. Haven't you noticed before? The smell of baking cookies when Ciara hasn't made any? Cigar smoke when Cillian hasn't lit up? Motor oil and gasoline even though there are no cars here?"

"I guess I have, but … I just assumed, living in a big building like ours …"

Blaine shook his head. "Memories are lost all the time."

Kurt reeled from the statement. He gaped silently at Blaine. "Then how do we know that we're not – "

"Descartes." Blaine sighed lightly. "Listen, Kurt. You could drive yourself crazy pursuing every theory to its conclusion. I mean literally crazy. There's a whole wing of the hospital for people who have done just that."

"You're right. I just can't help myself. There are so many things I don't understand, so how do I know what's true?"

"Why isn't there sound in space?" Blaine asked. Kurt's brow furrowed. "Why is there no sound in outer space?"

"Because sound doesn't travel in a vacuum."

"Why not?" Kurt shook his head. "But you believe it's true. I don't know how we got here – wormholes or magic or whatever – but I believe that we are here, in the flesh, because I choose to believe in the five senses. Not everyone does. Nick thinks we crossed into a parallel universe; Hana thinks we're in Paradise; Ciara and Cillian think its faerie magic that brought us here. None of us understand, but we've kept our sanity by believing it anyway."

Kurt breathed deeply and nodded. "Is existential philosophy normally part of finding?"

"Funnily enough, it's not."

As they strolled around the lake, Kurt spotted a number of incongruous items littering the grass. He plucked up a set of car keys and a stray sock cap from on top of a boulder embedded in the ground.

"This feels a little like being a garbage man," he commented.

"Don't look at it like that. We're not picking up trash, we're picking up belongings."

"Oh, so it's more like being a maid?"

Blaine laughed lightly and bumped his shoulder. Kurt flushed to his ears every time Blaine touched him casually. He thought if he didn't get some control over himself he would be beat red indefinitely.

"You know, someone found all the clothes you have on right now."

They meandered slowly over the rolling hills talking about nothing much and pausing to examine every item they came across. Before long, Kurt had a full wicker basket: mismatched socks, books, pens, yo-yo, and a worthless couple of Canadian bills that Blaine examined lovingly before slipping into his pocket.

"Thank you for bringing me out here, Blaine. It's very relaxing."

"I love to come walking out here. The first time Ciara shoved a basket in my hand told me to make my aimless wandering useful I thought it was a punishment, and I know it sounds stupid, but finding is one of favorite things to do now."

"Do you bring everyone out here?" Kurt asked slowly.

"No, I've never brought anyone out here. Actually, I – I never even asked any of the others to come with me."

Kurt felt his face heat up and giddy giggles building in his chest, because Blaine was sharing this with him and him alone!

Blaine turned away with the pretense of picking up a children's toy from the grass, but he hardly saw the colorful item as he placed it into his basket, and later, he wouldn't even guess that it was Rock-a-Stack. At the moment, his own motivations for bringing Kurt out here preoccupied his thoughts.

There was a reason Blaine had convinced Soren to let Kurt stay in his suite and Cillian to change the set list on Friday. He'd been so thrilled this morning to throw off the label of mentor because friend was one step closer to what he wanted. But no decent person would try something right now while Kurt was going through such a huge, painful transition.

So, no, that was off the table. Indefinitely.

"We should probably head back. The Carrollers have rehearsal tonight, and Yunjin wants to hold a company meeting about our Mid-winter festival."

They turned and headed back down the rolling hills towards the distant greenhouse. Kurt hadn't realized they'd come so far. They must have been out here for over an hour to walk all this way.

"Mid-winter festival?"

"Hmm. We celebrate whichever holidays fall within the month of December and perform whenever there's a public gathering. We get stretched a little thin trying to cover it all, but it's worth it. Being invited to be part of someone's tradition, it's a real honor."

"If you're stretched thin, why don't you hold auditions and bring in more people?"

"Auditions are always open. Anyone who wants to join just tells Cillian or Ciara, and then everyone votes after the performance."

Kurt didn't know why he said nothing about his aspirations to perform on Broadway – the real Broadway, in New York – or about being part of New Directions. It felt wrong somehow, like he was switching allegiances in wartime by auditioning for The Wonderland Company. So he said nothing.

They took their findings to the warehouse. The basement was arranged like a massive recycling plant with bins full of separated items: scrap metal (e.g. car keys), clothing, plastic (e.g. bottles, bags), kitchen appliances, books, scrap electronics (e.g. cell phones), and the labels went on and on. An entire city block worth of towering shelves were marked the same way. Kurt didn't wonder there was a massive sign on the basement wall: "Don't Know Where It Goes? Leave It By The Inventory Office!"

"This is unbelievable," Kurt breathed. "This much stuff is lost?"

"It really puts into perspective how many worthless possessions we had, doesn't it?"

Blaine tossed the empty wicker baskets into a collection tub by the stairs leading back upstairs after they'd put all their found items in the proper place. The whole way back to Broadway, Kurt wracked his brain to name a possession he'd ever lost and sincerely missed. He couldn't come up with a single one.


	8. Interlude: McKinley

**INTERLUDE**

The faculty and student body of William McKinley High School gathered in the south parking lot after sunset. They came bearing lit candles, photographs, and handwritten messages of caring. They formed prayer circles and wept on each others' shoulders. Local news crews parked vans along the road and cameramen weaved around the assembled students.

Sue had never seen such hypocrisy in her life.

None of these people had cared about Kurt. They had thrown Slushies in his face, tossed him into dumpsters, slammed him up against lockers, ridiculed his clothes, laughed at his voice, and spread vicious rumors behind his back. They hated him because they didn't understand his sexuality. They only saw one part of him, the part that made him different, and made him the target of their senseless hate.

Sue sneered at their guilty theatrics.

"Coach Sylvester?"

The cheerleading coach turned away from the crowd. Her lips parted in surprise at the overwhelming emotion rising up through her chest when she saw Burt Hummel had addressed her. A woman with auburn hair, presumably Carole Hudson, stood beside him holding Finn's hand.

"Mr. Hummel," Sue said, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm not a woman of much sentiment, so I'll spare you the condolences. If there is anything I can do for your family, please let me know, and I will do it."

"Thank you. I appreciate that. Kurt always spoke highly of you, even though your methods aren't ... traditional. And Finn tells me you helped Kurt a lot when I was sick. I'd like it if you joined us, Kurt's family and real friends."

"I would be honored."

Sue fell into step behind Carole and Finn as they made their way over to the small cluster of New Directions and Will. She judged from the stormy look in Kurt's friends' faces that they were as unimpressed with the candlelight vigil as she was.

"– a disgrace!" Rachel Berry concluded hotly.

Mercedes wrapped her arms around Rachel and pulled her into a hug. The girl burst into tears on her friend's shoulder, and Tina and Mike rubbed comforting circles on her back. The sounds of her sobs made something stir deep inside of Sue, and she turned away quickly. A hand caught her elbow before she could bolt.

"Sue."

"Don't, William. This is the biggest sham I have ever seen. David Karofsky is here, Will. Kurt's tormentor is here."

Will breathed deeply through his nose. "I agree with you, Sue. So do all my kids and Kurt's family. But it's been two weeks and the FBI has no leads. No matter how distasteful this whole thing is, it's putting Kurt's face and his story on the news. Even if it doesn't help us find Kurt, it's putting important issues out there. Every time Kurt is mentioned by journalists, so is the fact that he's openly gay, and that's sparking debates about bullying and hate crimes that Kurt would be proud to be part of."

"Your glass-half-full mentality makes sense to me on an intellectual level, on an emotional one?" Sue shook her head and pursed her lips. "If the FBI finds Kurt, and he's okay and he comes back here, these people aren't going to suddenly become his friends. They're going to keep their distance and gossip and forget whatever it is he's going through right now within a month. They'll start by throwing a Slushie and before the year's out, it will be the same damned thing, Will."

Sue spun on her heel and pointed fiercely at Karofsky's face in the crowd, but she forgot what she was going to say. The football player was pale as a sheet, and he had dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept at all in two weeks. He looked worse than Burt Hummel, who had lost a son and had a bad heart. Guilt will do that to a person, Sue figured.

"Nothing will change until people like him change. And don't tell me it can happen, Will. Fifty years I've watched bullies single out anyone different than themselves."

"I see where you're coming from, Sue. I really do. But I sincerely believe something good will come of this tragedy. Kurt Hummel was born to change the world."


	9. Six

**SIX**

Kurt held it together for another nine days.

He went to school and sat through lessons he didn't fully comprehend; he had movie night and meals with Blaine, Jeff, Nick, Dagny, and Hana; he went finding with Blaine; he watched all the shows The Wonderland Company staged.

He tried not to think too much about whether Mr. Schuester found a Journey song for Sectionals; he avoided prolonged speculation about the investigation into his disappearance; he didn't read an article he stumbled across in an old magazine about the effects of stress on the heart.

But bottled up emotions always spill over at some point, and that point came on an innocuous enough Friday morning fifteen days after Kurt had arrived in Here.

Blaine dragged himself out of bed that morning when his alarm clock insisted on buzzing in his ear. He and Kurt had fallen into a steady routine. Every morning, Kurt vacated the bathroom at precisely 6:03, just when Blaine dragged himself out of his bedroom. Kurt gave a chipper greeting; Blaine tried not to moan like a zombie.

Today, however, the bathroom door stood open and the lights were off. The thumps and slams issuing from behind Kurt's closed bedroom door did not sound promising. Blaine shook off the last vestiges of sleep and knocked lightly. The door flew open, and Blaine took a step back.

Kurt was still in his pajamas – a plain navy blue cotton set – with his hair undone, but his knee-high boots on. He had his messenger bag over his shoulder. The ensemble was bizarre enough, but it was the look of sheer panic on his face that startled Blaine.

"Kurt? What's going on?"

Kurt shook his head defiantly as he marched out of his bedroom and pulled open the common room door. Blaine tried to shut it with his palm on the wood, but Kurt yanked the door handle harder, and it swung open.

"Thank you for everything you've done for me, Blaine, but I'm going home now."

Blaine couldn't see his own face, but he imagined he matched Kurt for panic now. His friend was clearly not in his right mind. Minus the fact that he was traipsing out in public in pajamas and knee-high boots without a jacket on a November morning, Kurt couldn't go home, and he'd been told that more than once.

Kurt slapped away his hands and bolted down the hallway. With a string of curses, Blaine pulled on the nearest pair of shoes he could find – which happened to be Nick's sneakers, and therefore, a little too big – and raced after Kurt, mindless of his pajamas and crazy morning hair. He had also forgotten to retrieve his glasses from the bedside table, which he didn't realize until he was two flights down and it was too late to go back if he didn't want to lose Kurt.

"Kurt! Stop! Kurt, come back!" Blaine shouted.

The other boy had almost reached the corner of Main and Broadway already. He was just a dark, fuzzy blur to Blaine, who broke into a sprint to catch up with his friend. He fell into step beside Kurt in front of the grocery on Main, but the other boy flung out an arm to keep physical distance between them.

"This place is insane, and I'm not staying here anymore."

Blaine's brow knitted in distress. "Kurt, we've talked about this. You can't leave; no one has ever found a way back to where they came from."

"Then none of them wanted to leave as badly as I do!"

Kurt kept up a steady clip down the cobblestone walkways until they hit the end of Main and came to the vast lawn that climbed up into the rolling hillocks towards the ring of trees at the edge of the forest and the far distant mountains no one had ever crossed before. He strode forward purposefully onto the dewy grass with his breath misting in front of him.

"Kurt, please don't do this," Blaine pleaded. "Nothing good can come from this."

"I stayed up all night thinking, and I figured it out. I came here because Puck told me to go spy on the Warblers." Kurt paused in his explanation to untangle his leather boot from a patch of briars.

"You were going to spy on birds?"

"Prep school boys. Anyway. I felt lost, right? So I ended up here because I didn't know where to go to find a place to belong. But now I know that I belong at home with my dad. So I can go home. I figure if I get physically lost, I'll wind up back home."

Blaine stared in horror at the back of Kurt's head. He wished he'd thought to yell for Ciara or someone to come help him, because this was going to end so badly Blaine didn't know if he could manage it alone. He had to try, though, for Kurt.

"Kurt, you haven't slept all night. You're not thinking clearly. Just … come back with me. We'll talk about this more and – "

"No! I told you. I'm going home today. It's been fifteen days."

They had come to the ring of trees atop the long sloping lawn on the western side of Here. Kurt plunged into the forest without regard for his direction or the state of his expensive-looking leather boots. The trees all blurred together in Blaine's eyes, and the low hanging branches obscured the path. The morning dampness on the floor of fallen gold and red leaves muffled the other boy's footsteps, and Blaine struggled to keep Kurt in his line of sight.

"Is that significant, Kurt? Fifteen days?"

Kurt's high-pitched, slightly out-of-it voice floated back on the gentle wind. Blaine used it to find Kurt again. The other boy did not slow, but had to step over a fallen log, which gave Blaine the time he needed to catch up again.

"Twin Pines Summer Camp."

"Tell me what that means, Kurt."

"I stayed there for two weeks the summer I was eight. My mom died a month later."

Blaine looked up sharply, and his left foot caught on the log. He went sprawling onto the wet forest floor. His knee banged on a rock embedded in the earth, and his palms skidded over the leafy underbrush. Kurt's feet turned in his line of vision, and a pair of steady hands helped him up. Blaine took the opportunity to seize hold of Kurt's forearms and hold him in place.

"The two aren't related, Kurt."

"No, I know. But I lost two of the last weeks I ever would have had with her. I've lost more than that with my dad, so I'm going home today."

"It doesn't work like that, Kurt."

"It will for me."

He wrenched his arms free of Blaine's hold and continued on his fast, aimless march through the forest.

Blaine knew how this was going to end. He'd seen it before, and he needed to be there for Kurt when it happened, so he followed closely like a puppy at his new best friend's heel, just waiting for the inevitable moment when Kurt's world came crashing down around him.

It took an hour.

"Look!" Kurt cried joyfully.

Whatever it was Kurt pointed at, it was only a blob to Blaine. That Kurt thought he saw anything at all meant the conclusion was near. Blaine had never felt more agony. Tagging along behind Kurt, knowing what was coming and unable to stop it because of his friend's stubbornness felt like knives piercing his heart.

"Look, Blaine! That's it! I'm home."

Kurt grabbed his hand and broke into a run. Blaine did his best to keep pace, but running without clear vision was unsettling, and the lump in his throat made him resist Kurt's enthusiasm. They burst through the trees onto a too familiar hilltop. Blaine didn't need to look to know where they were, so he watched Kurt closely.

The other boy's brow furrowed in confusion, and then his smile flickered and died. A flash of anger passed over his face, and he shook his head violently.

"No," he said flatly.

They had gotten lost and arrived back in Here.

"No! No!"

Kurt's face made a picture of complete and consuming anguish. Blaine stepped towards his friend just as Kurt's knees buckled, and they sank onto the wet grass together with Kurt circled in Blaine's arms and a wordless cry on his lips. The tears fell hard and fast, wracking Kurt's entire body as he rocked forward and only Blaine's arms kept him from collapsing entirely into the grass.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt," Blaine whispered hoarsely.

He repeated it again and again while Kurt screamed out his torment. Kurt cried long after he had run out of tears. Blaine never let him go. At last, with deep, shuddering breaths, Kurt spoke the last words he would say for the next five days.

"I'm never going to see my dad again."

**o o o**

Nick and Jeff watched with solemn, pale faces as Blaine brought Kurt back to their suite. They waited outside Kurt's door as Blaine took off his boots and tucked their new friend into bed. They went with him when he told Cillian and Ciara what had happened. Every day, for the next five days, they lowered their voices whenever they walked past Kurt's door.

Blaine was the only person who saw Kurt until the following Wednesday. He brought Kurt three meals a day, missing his own lunch hour at school to do it, although the other boy refused anything but a few sips of water. He did his homework at the desk in Kurt's room just so his friend could sense another person in the room.

If he finished at an early enough hour, he scooted the chair over to the bed and talked to Kurt's back for a while.

"I must seem like some kind of crazy stalker. I haven't known you even a month, and I'm doing … this. I don't know why, but I feel like I should, like I'm meant to be here for you right now. I've had friends here since I arrived, but there's no like you. You're my best friend, Kurt."

He was so distracted, Ciara told him gently and lovingly that he had to sit out Sunday afternoon's performance with The Carrollers.

"Please, say something, Kurt. I'd even settle for you telling me to go away. Kurt, please …."

He missed a couple afternoon classes to stay with Kurt longer. He had nothing left to say, so he bent double in the chair and laid his forehead on the edge of Kurt's bed.

Cillian intervened on Wednesday night. The grandfather-figure sent Nick, Jeff, and Blaine upstairs to Dagny's apartment suite. He whacked Blaine with his cane when the boy voiced his objection too sassily. When the teenagers were all out of the apartment, Cillian rapped his fingers on Kurt's door and entered without waiting for permission. He eased down into the desk chair with a groan and creak of old bones.

"You and I, we don't know each other well, but there isn't anyone else here who has been through this more times than me," Cillian began. "I arrived here forty-three years ago in circumstances not unlike your own, although it was my son, not my father, I left behind."

Kurt stirred a little in his bed. His neck turned slightly, and with his ear angled towards Cillian, the old man knew he had Kurt's attention.

"Aye. There's a man somewhere in the world who thinks his father ran off and left him when he was baby. If you think that doesn't hurt me every day, you're not smart enough to walk down the street without a minder. I had a choice to make forty-three years ago. I could stop living because I'd lost the person I loved most in the world or I could build a new life and honor the few precious memories I had of my baby boy."

Cillian laid his cane over his knees and held up his hands.

"So I put these to good use. I was a carpenter in Ireland. I wanted to be a singer, but I had a family to feed. So, I thought, now that I have a new start, why don't I use both my skills? I built The Wonderland with my own hands."

He looked up from his callused palms to find Kurt sitting up in his bed, his knees at his chest and an understandable wariness in his eyes.

"You're saying I should make myself useful."

The boy's voice was raspy from days without use. It touched Cillian's heart to hear such hurt in the voice of one so young. He tried to smile a little, but didn't manage it.

"Aye, but not in the way you might be thinking. Forget about what Here needs. Make yourself useful in whatever way makes you happy. You're entitled to that little bit of selfishness."

Kurt nodded slowly and cast his eyes out the window where the sun made its slow descent below the horizon. He offered no suggestions, so Cillian made an effort.

"Blaine tells me you've skill with languages. We could always use more translators and English teachers to make arriving easier for those who don't speak the language."

"Wonderful," Kurt intoned, with an eye roll. "I can be a mini-Mr. Schue."

"Well, I don't pretend that makes an ounce of sense of to me, but I can see the idea doesn't appeal to you. All right, then. Anyone with eyes can see you've got an interest in clothes. There's never enough tailors to turn fabric into clothes. Would that make you happy?"

Kurt made a sound of interest in the back of his throat. "I am good at designing outfits and sewing, and I did love making the costumes for my glee club. Fashion isn't what I intended on pursuing professionally, but I guess I could …"

"Don't settle for what you could do, Kurt. If you could be happy being a fashion designer, try it as a hobby. But do what you know will make you happy."

Kurt said nothing for a very long time. The pensive furrow in his brow kept the silence from becoming uncomfortable. Cillian waited while the young man worked up the courage to ask for what he already knew he wanted. At last, Kurt released a breath.

"Thank you."

The old man's hope deflated a bit. He'd wanted to hear what it was Kurt dreamed about doing. Even though he would probably be moved into a foster home while he completed schooling, he was important to Blaine, and Blaine was important to Cillian.

"On my second day here, I made myself get out of bed because I knew my dad would want me to embrace every day I'm given, wherever I am. It felt different, though, when I realized I wouldn't ever see him again."

Cillian nodded solemnly. "That's the rub. It _is_ different, Kurt. You're mourning everyone you love on the other side, and they'll be mourning you soon too. But there's some comfort to be found here, Kurt. You're a young man, and young men are supposed to forge their own lives. Of course, you would have seen your family and friends if you'd not come here, but you might have left home in a few years for college or work."

"Yes, I would have. I was going to move to New York for college and study musical theater. It's always been my dream to be on Broadway."

A wide grin spread over Cillian's lined lips, and Kurt managed a meager smile in return.

"Well, then isn't it lucky Blaine found you? I suppose we need to arrange for an audition, don't we? Let's give you a few days, yeah? Monday night, after dinner. Will that do for you?"

Kurt nodded. "That will do just fine."

**o o o**

When Blaine came down from Dagny's apartment an hour after being dismissed by Cillian (and against his friends' better judgment), he was shocked to find Kurt sitting on the sofa flipping through a songbook. He had showered for the first time in days, and the empty dishes of the meal Blaine had brought up for him sat by the door to be taken downstairs later.

The pale boy looked up slowly when Blaine entered. He opened his mouth to say something, but Blaine beat him to the punch.

"Kurt. Oh my God, _Kurt_! I was so worried about you."

"I'm sorry, Blaine," he said sincerely. "I didn't mean to scare you. Although, a manic episode followed by a comatose five days can't really be anything but terrifying."

"Hey. I wasn't looking for an apology. You can't help your emotions, and what you're going through right now isn't an easy thing to come to terms with."

"It means a lot to me, Blaine, that you were there for me even when I wasn't responding. You're a good friend. You're my best friend too."

Blaine ducked his head a little. "Oh, you heard that?"

"I heard everything you said." He laughed when Blaine cringed. "Don't. You were very sweet, and it helps knowing I have someone here who cares about me."

"I do care about you, Kurt."

Blaine swallowed thickly and felt the pressing need to change the subject before he said anything else that could misconstrue his intentions.

"So you're looking at … songbooks?"

Kurt nodded and grinned impishly. "Actually, I was going to ask for your help. You see, I haven't sung at all in almost three weeks, and I have this really important audition on Monday."

It took Blaine a minute to catch on, but when he did, his enthusiasm knew no bounds. He quizzed Kurt rigorously about his performance history and dreams. As it turned out, he was in a show choir not unlike The Carrollers and played Riff Raff in a stage production of _Rocky Horror Picture Show_. He had big dreams, just like Blaine: Broadway.

"I cannot believe a high school in Ohio did _Rocky Horror_. I heard about a school in Vancouver that couldn't even do _RENT_."

"I raised that very objection when my teacher told us about it. Our parents had to sign permission forms. Luckily, my dad hadn't seen the movie. I told him it was about space aliens who like throwing dinner parties."

Blaine didn't stop laughing for a solid five minutes. His laugh was contagious, and before Kurt knew it, he was laughing too. Nick and Jeff poked their heads in during that five minutes, and the shock on their faces sent Blaine and Kurt into another round of hysterics.

"What is so funny?" Hana demanded, following her boyfriend into the common room.

"_Rocky Horror_ … about aliens … party," Blaine gasped.

Dagny's eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. "Uh, I think you might have missed some of the, well not subtleties exactly, of that movie."

When Kurt and Blaine had calmed down enough, they explained from the beginning. The resulting third round of laughter reminded Kurt a lot of that first dinner after his mom died, when he and his dad laughed too soon, but the laughter started a healing process that would bond them more deeply than any father-son pair Kurt knew.

It still hurt to remember his dad, and it probably would every day for the rest of his life. But his dad would be happy Kurt had found a new kind of family here and that he was pursuing his dream. The harder challenge was accepting that his dad would make a new family with Carole and Finn, that they would laugh together too soon, that they would embrace the days they were given without Kurt.

A hand resting on top of his and another on his back brought him out of his melancholy. He expected Blaine to be the one touching him, but it wasn't. It was Jeff's hand on his, and Nick's palm between his shoulder blades. Blaine was still laughing with Hana and Dagny.

"We get that he's your best mate," Jeff said.

"That's cool. Jeff's my best friend, and Dagny is Hana's. It's like we're a complete hexagon now that you've joined us."

"But we're here for you too, Kurt. My story, it's a lot like yours. It's not something I like to talk about, but I will, if you ever need an empathic ear. Not that these guys wouldn't try, but … sometimes you need to talk to someone like yourself."

"Thank you."

The sincerity in his voice conveyed more than two words could. Nick and Jeff understood that. They grinned a little sadly and patted him lightly before removing their hands.

"Can we help you prepare for the audition too?" Nick asked. "Blaine's a good singer and actor, but his dancing is a little … frantic."

"And yours is a little … staid. I'll be helping Kurt with the dancing portion," Jeff declared.

"Uh, no. I'll be helping Kurt with the dancing portion," Dagny argued.

While they mock fought over who could do what, Hana scooted over on the couch and gave Kurt a tight hug. She didn't need to say anything she put so much feeling into the embrace. Kurt squeezed the small girl back.

Kurt put an end to the argument after Nick pulled out a toy lightsaber ("You seriously spent a yellow on that?" Hana asked) and Jeff fought him off with a plastic sword ("Oh, not you too!" "It's a replica of Aragorn's!"), and they settled down to discuss the details of Kurt's audition.

He wondered what crazy thing Rachel would have said to him, if he'd come to her for help, and how she would have commandeered the conversation and made it all about herself and how often Mercedes would have rolled her eyes while that happened.

Some part of him would always miss that kind of crazy. Although he'd only been friends with New Directions for a year and a half, they'd made an indelible mark on him. They'd given him the courage to come out, to sing, to be himself. He would never forget them.

But those days were gone. There were new memories to make now with a new kind of crazy. A crazy less about attitude and more about circumstance. It wasn't his first choice, but neither was _Don't Stop Believin'_ and that had been the beginning of something wonderful.


	10. Interlude: Jeff

**INTERLUDE**

The Sterling children sat on the grassy knoll overlooking the sandy beach. The foamy waves coming in from the aquamarine ocean lapped gently at the edges of the sandcastle they had made together an hour ago. Another hour and it would be underwater, but that just meant they would make another higher up the beach.

Gwendolyn wriggled on Jeff's lap and tapped her older brother's cheek to get his attention. She stared up at him almost accusingly with her big, clear green eyes. Michaela had fallen asleep a quarter hour ago on his other thigh and leaned heavily against his torso. Not Gwendolyn, though. She never slept when there was a story to hear.

"Read or she'll start throwing a tantrum," Johnny advised.

Jeff grinned at his twin brother, who lay stretched out next to him with clasped hands behind his head. He'd closed his eyes against the bright glare of the warm sun shining over the beach, but Jeff knew he'd been listening to the story too.

"Michaela will want to hear the rest."

Gwendolyn pouted and beat her tiny fists against Jeff's chest, but he wouldn't budge. His baby sister would just have to wait until Michaela woke up from her nap to hear the rest. He used the library due date slip to mark his place and closed the book. The reflective silver leaf on the purple cover reflected the sun as he laid it down in the grass.

Seeing she wouldn't be getting her way after all, Gwendolyn rolled off her brother's lap and went to bother Johnny for attention. The other boy's eyes snapped open, and he leapt up from the sandy grass to chase his youngest sister down the hill and along the beach. Jeff watched from his high perch with a smile.

It wasn't often the weather was warm enough in Dunedin for the Sterling children to escape to the beach, and they weren't wasting this day for anything. They would stay out here until after sundown when Michaela and Gwendolyn got fussy and cranky before going home.

Home. Just the word made Jeff's stomach drop.

The ache that came from his ulcers flared up, and he riffled through the beach bag for his chalky medication. Johnny told him to stop worrying so much, that they were only fifteen and shouldn't be sick with old people's diseases, but Jeff couldn't help it.

He replayed the details nervously in his head. After he'd cleaned up the bottles this morning, he'd rolled their mom onto her stomach. She should be all right while they were gone. Probably there would be a sick mess for him to clean up when he got home, but she'd be all right otherwise. He wasn't supposed to feed the stray Newfoundland that hung around the swing set in their backyard, but he'd left her a dish of water and the crusts from the sandwiches he'd packed for today anyway. No creature should have to go hungry, whether it was a dog or a child. He'd forgotten to fold the laundry last night, so he'd need to do that when he got home. Maybe he could convince Johnny to help. Sometimes he would, when he wasn't getting angry about everything and shouting at their mom.

Michaela stirred in Jeff's lap, and he brushed at her blonde curls to ease her back into the waking world. He had a juice box ready for her when she blinked sleepy eyes and sat up. A wrinkle in his t-shirt had made a red crease in her cheek. He kissed it lightly.

"Welcome back, sleepyhead."

"What happened to Peter?" she said. She sipped at the small straw. "Did he save the Lost Boys from the rock?"

"We stopped reading when you fell asleep. We'll finish the story after Johnny's caught Gwendolyn and we've made another sandcastle. Ours has been overwhelmed by the waves."

Michaela bobbed her head pleasantly, and Jeff was glad. He wanted to stretch out the story as long as he could. It would give them an excuse to stay at the beach longer, if they needed to finish the book by torchlight. He and Johnny could carry the girls home if they were too tired.

"Why don't you take our castle-building supplies down to the beach?"

The little girl agreed readily. She climbed off Jeff's lap and picked up the crenulated bucket with the plastic shovels before skipping down the sandy slope towards the high tide waterline. Gwendolyn and Johnny joined forces to chase Michaela around the beach, and the girl ran, screaming her head off happily, with the bucket flying behind her and shovels falling out.

Jeff laughed half-heartedly as he picked his way down the shifting surface of the sand dune. He wished he could be as carefree as his siblings, but someone had to take care of their family. It didn't matter that he was fifteen and it was making him sick. Someone had to do it.

He lost his footing towards the bottom of the dune and threw his arm out to steady himself, but it was too late. He tumbled down the remainder of the hill and landed in a soft bed of powdery snow.


	11. Seven

**SEVEN**

Kurt received his first piece of mail the first Monday in December. Four envelopes had been pushed through the mail slot in the door each bearing the name of one of the boys living in the suite. He was fussing over a strand of hair that refused to lay right when Jeff appeared in his doorway waving around the manila envelope.

"Delivery for you."

Kurt threw up his hands in frustration and turned away from the mirror. Jeff handed over the envelope and waited while Kurt unwound the string holding it closed. He pulled out a stack of vouchers.

"But I haven't made myself very useful this past month," Kurt objected.

"Doesn't matter. You're in the registry, so you get vouchers. Besides, a little lack of productivity is expected your first few weeks. They make you see a shrink if you're too consumed with work right away."

Kurt eyed the stack of vouchers skeptically, but there was no giving them back now. He would make it up by actually accomplishing something in December. He added the paper slips to his wallet where he'd stored the blue Dagny had given him.

"Keep the envelope for when you need to send mail. Cross out your name, and write the address below. Bring your greens downstairs."

Kurt slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and followed Jeff out of the apartment. They dropped their greens into a collection basket on the counter in the dining room.

Blaine and Nick had gone down to breakfast earlier. There was a mocha waiting for Kurt when he took his usual seat at the new, bigger table by the window facing the brick wall.

"I'm worried you're not eating enough," Kurt snarked.

He lifted an eyebrow at the pile of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and sausage links on Blaine's plate as he peeled the banana he'd taken from the fruit bowl on the counter. His eyes flew open in surprise when he took the first bite.

"Oh my God! This banana is delicious!"

His friends had a hearty laugh at his expense.

"Never had a fresh picked banana before, have you?" Jeff asked. "I, too, was very happy when Marco started growing tropical fruits in his greenhouse. He even has some feijoas there."

Kurt eyed the fruit bowl and finally gave into the temptation to go back for a couple more bananas. He patently ignored his friends' ribbing the entire walk to school.

Although going to school at this point was somewhat pointless, Kurt went anyway. He had missed too many classes to be able to do his assignments well, so he was taking Incompletes and registering for the same classes next semester.

The weather had turned cold over the weekend. A sheet of ice covered the grass every morning, and a frigid wind blew from the west, but it hadn't snowed yet. The citizens of Here had abandoned their jackets for winter coats and scarves.

Kurt had been thrilled to find at the warehouse a genuine Burberry wool trenchcoat in burnt orange with geometric fastenings, and he was ecstatic that he could actually wear it now. He paired it with a fantastic black check cashmere scarf and a faux fur hat that he had, perhaps, found on the women's side of the warehouse.

"How is it that I look like a marshmallow in my winter coat," Hana began, "and Kurt looks courter?"

"_Couture_," Jeff corrected gently.

"That's not English," the girl argued.

"You look like a marshmallow because you picked a puffy white coat and you're tiny," Kurt said. "Come shopping with me, and I'll pick you out a fabulous, fashionable winter coat."

"I can't. I'm saving all my vouchers for presents. I don't celebrate Christmas, but all my friends do. You guys buy me things and give me unholy amounts of candy, and then I feel terribly. I'm not letting that happen this year."

They had reached the College Quad where they all attended classes to find a scrum at the door. Normally, students lingered in the courtyard, but with the biting wind everyone wanted inside immediately.

"The coat is my Christmas gift to you," Jeff said.

He handed Kurt one of his blues, and then ducked his head and kissed his girlfriend for so long Nick, Blaine, and Kurt rolled their eyes at the spectacle. With warning, two pairs of hands sent Kurt and Blaine flying. Nick grabbed and managed to keep Kurt on his feet, but Blaine went sprawling onto the concrete. Kurt crouched down to see if Blaine was all right.

"Back the hell off, Parrish!" Nick shouted, shoving the Southern boy back.

"Make me, Yankee."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Are you that obtuse that you don't realize you just gave me the perfect in to call you a Redneck?"

Kurt turned and cocked an appreciative eyebrow at Nick. Blaine's hand using his shoulder as leverage brought him back the important matter, whether Blaine was injured or not. He, apparently, was just fine except for a bruised ego.

"And that gives me the perfect in to call these two fairies."

"No, it doesn't," Nick said very slowly, as if speaking to a child. "But your lack of understanding does provide a wonderful example for why individuals with an immediate common ancestor shouldn't be allowed to have children."

Jeff didn't even try to hold back his laughter, and neither did anyone else in hearing distance. Red blossomed on Parrish's cheeks, and he shoved his way to the front of the line and through the doors.

"You all right?"

Blaine nodded at Nick as he brushed at the back of his pants. Their friends turned to Kurt, but the pale boy didn't say anything. He was staring at Nick like he'd never seen anything like him before. And he hadn't. No one had ever defended Kurt against his bullies before. He'd always had to stand up to Karofsky and Azimio alone because Finn's shame had faded and the girls couldn't take on football players and he was too proud to ask anyone else for help.

"Kurt?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Blaine held Kurt back when the others went through the doors, but from the corner of his eye, he saw Nick and Jeff hovering on the other side of the glass, as if prepared to come charging back outside if Parrish and his crony came back for seconds.

"I'm fine, Blaine. Really. I didn't even fall. Are _you_ sure you're okay?"

The curly-haired boy watched him closely for a few seconds, and Kurt put on his bravest face. He wouldn't turn this into a pity party and whine about how no one had ever defended him before. At last, Blaine nodded, and they went into class.

**o o o**

Despite having performed in a show choir for a year and a half and singing in the privacy of his bedroom for much longer, Kurt couldn't help but be incredibly nervous about his audition for The Wonderland Company. It may not be the "real" Broadway, but it was the only Broadway he would ever get to perform on.

The Wonderland Company accepted all types of performing artists, and Kurt was invited to showcase all his talents, although he only needed one to make it into the company. He considered combining singing, acting, and dancing with a song like _Some People_, but Jeff strongly advised against that. Some of the less congenial members might not like the idea of a young, handsome triple threat coming in to steal their thunder.

So maybe The Wonderland Company was a little more like New Directions than he'd thought.

Kurt hardly ate anything at dinner he was so nervous. He had been singing in his head during all the classes he didn't actually have to attend and practicing alone for the last hour. He was too apprehensive to actually let his friends hear him sing, which they all thought was silly, which only made him dig his heels in more.

Kurt had finally discovered the purpose of the brick wall he stared at during every meal. The building next door had started as a storage area for set pieces and had been converted into a practice area over the years. At seven o'clock, the entire company gathered in the practice theater. Cillian and Ciara sat at a table amid a mismatched collection of chairs containing actors, singers, dancers, and musicians.

Kurt took a breath and strode onto the stage like he owned it. In the front row, his friends gave him encouraging smiles and surreptitious thumbs up.

"Good evening," Cillian said, smiling warmly. "You all probably recognize Kurt from meals. He's been living with our students for almost a month now. But seeing someone and knowing them are two different things, so if you don't mind, Kurt, we'll start by getting to you know you a bit."

"Hello, I'm Kurt Hummel, and I'll be auditioning to join The Carrollers. I'm seventeen. I'm from a small town in Ohio. I've been a member of glee club since September of last year, and I just recently played Riff Raff in a stage production of _Rocky Horror_. You might also have seen me backstage at your shows a couple times furiously mending hemlines and BeDazzling everything in sight." He paused to allow for laughter. "Being on Broadway is my dream. It has been ever since I was a little boy, and I am so honored to be singing for you tonight."

Cillian nodded, and a pretty middle-aged Korean woman climbed on stage to take his sheet music. He knew her name was Yunjin, but he'd never spoken to her before. She was nothing at all like Brad, who plodded over to the piano and gave baleful looks at the singers. Yunjin smiled warmly and had bright, laughing brown eyes. When Kurt gave her the signal, she began playing the opening notes of Celine Dion's _My Heart Will Go On_.

"_Every night in my dreams_  
><em>I see you, I feel you<em>  
><em>That is how I know you go on<em>"

The company took in a collective breath. This song was one they had all sang at some point to feel connected to the loved ones they'd left on the other side. Those who had been in Here when the first copy of _Titanic_ had arrived remembered openly sobbing over this song, and not because of Jack and Rose's story.

Blaine hardly heard the words. He had spent a lot of time imagining what Kurt's voice sounded like. Blaine could hear in his modal voice that he was a countertenor with a lyrical style. But his imagination couldn't prepare him for such a glorious voice. He sat in awe as Kurt's voice soared and held the high notes. He never wanted the song to end, but it had to eventually.

When it did, and Kurt left the auditorium for the company to deliberate, Blaine's eyes followed his retreat.

Jeff elbowed him hard in the ribs to get his attention. Cillian was speaking, opening the floor for opinions. Blaine didn't understand how anyone could find any faults with Kurt's performance. His voice was flawless … angelic … _beautiful_. He was beautiful.

"Judging by the little hearts coming out of his eyes, I think Blaine votes yes," Dagny quipped.

The boy in question blushed pale pink when he realized half the company looked at him expectantly. Ciara had asked him a question. Little ripples of laughter erupted around the room.

"Now, now," Ciara scolded. "I asked you, Blaine, why you didn't tell us before he had such a voice."

"He didn't know," Hana answered. "None of us did. Kurt wasn't in the mood to be singing until a few days ago, and then he was too stubborn to let us hear."

In hindsight, Hana realized she shouldn't have said that. The more crotchety members of the company leapt on Kurt's tenacity and independence as reasons he shouldn't be allowed in. The outrage from the teenagers nearly sparked another tangential argument over "kids these days," but Ciara shushed everyone effectively.

"Just because your voice has been quavering for the last twenty years don't mean you get to crush the dreams of a talented young man, Caroline! For shame! You play your fiddle and shut your gob," Cillian called over his wife's more mellow entireties.

"It's a violin, you Irish yokel!" Caroline shouted back.

Normally, the younger members found these arguments humorous and endearing. The older members had been friends so long they could scream abuse at each other without damaging their friendships at all. But today, Kurt was waiting outside to hear if his dreams of being a professional performer were going to come true.

"Turn up your hearing aids!" Dagny hollered. "Ciara said we're voting."

The older set turned their ire on Dagny, but cast their vote when Ciara demanded it for a second time.

Out in the hallway, Kurt waited nervously on a bench across from the practice theater's double doors. He knew the company could get boisterous from common meals, but it sounded like they were shouting at each other, albeit about violins and hearing aids, but shouting all the same. That didn't bode well for his chances. They could decide he was a divisive influence and reject him. His mind was spinning into worse and worse scenarios when the doors open.

Blaine crossed the lobby with a blank look on his face. Kurt took a deep breath and forced himself to assume a neutral expression. Several tense seconds passed.

"Kurt … Congratulations."

The taller boy jumped up from the bench and clasped his hands together in front of his mouth. He bounced around on the balls of his feet and grinned toothily.

"You jerk!" he laughed, shoving Blaine's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. Kurt. You blew me away in there. Your voice … I've never heard anything like it."

The sudden arrival of Nick, Jeff, and Dagny with fierce hugs saved Kurt the embarrassment of finding an appropriate response to such high praise. He smiled at Blaine through the tangle of arms.

"Stop jumping on Kurt! You're going to hurt him," Hana demanded. She gave Kurt a more controlled hug when they backed off. "We have a tradition whenever someone our age joins the company. I'll go get your coat."

While Hana ran off to fetch Kurt's winter wear from the coat room, the rest of The Wonderland Company filed out of the auditorium to congratulate and welcome Kurt. He guessed some of them hadn't voted in his favor, considering the yelling, but everyone was perfectly friendly to him now that he was one of them.

"We'll talk about rehearsal schedules and all that later," Ciara said, patting his cheek. "I'm sure your friends are going to drag you off for their little tradition now." She sighed wistfully and gave him a precious smile. "I'm so happy you're one of my mine now, Kurt. Oh, I know you're a man, and you don't need a soppy old woman like me coddling you, but I have grown ever so fond of you."

"We've hardly spoken," Kurt sputtered.

She patted his cheek again. "Oh, dearie. It doesn't take soul-searching conversation to know you're in the company of someone you'll come to care for a great deal. These things, you just know them."

Jeff and Dagny intruded on the moment by trying to thrust Kurt's arms into his Burberry coat. He snapped at them and took the coat away.

"I am perfectly capable of putting on my own coat! You two are a dangerous combination, especially to my coat. Do you know how much this coat costs?"

"A blue voucher," Hana deadpanned.

"Almost three thousand dollars. I know that doesn't mean much to an Aussie, but you should understand its value, Dagny."

"_Aus_sies are from _Aus_tralia," Jeff said, throwing an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "Kiwis are from New Zealand."

"So are Hobbits."

"Hana's on a roll with the sarcasm tonight," Nick laughed.

Kurt let himself be guided out into the freezing nighttime. The sun had set long ago, leaving the sky dotted with hundreds of stars. Steady yellow light spilled onto the cobblestone walkways from wind-powered light bulbs in old fashion lampposts. Kurt had never really noticed them before, always being inside at night. There was no way that many lampposts and light bulbs had been lost. Someone had cast the metal poles and re-invented the incandescent light bulb.

"So what's this tradition?"

All his friends would tell him was, "You'll see" as they dragged him into a part of Here he'd never seen before. The cold wind made their faces numb and bright red. By the time they stumbled into an old fashioned storefront, clinging together for warmth and still shivering, they looked like children who had been playing in the snow all day.

Kurt's eyes flicked around the small shop for a moment before he burst into laughter. They had brought him to an ice cream parlor. A few small tables overlooked Boulevard through the frosted plate glass windows, and a small waiting area separated the seating from the counter. Behind a display case, buckets of ice cream sat in a freezer. Through a large window in the wall, he saw a bakery and candy shop in the next building.

"You are all insane. It's freezing outside, literally, and you bring me for ice cream?"

A plump middle-aged woman with wavy red hair came out of the back drying her hands on a dish towel. Her whole face lit up when she saw the teenagers shivering in her ice cream shop. She leaned to the left to get a clear view of Kurt.

"Would this be the newest addition to The Wonderland Company?" she asked in a vaguely Eastern European accent.

"That's right. This is Kurt Hummel. Kurt, this is Amalie Kokinos. She's Andreas's sister-in-law," Blaine introduced.

Kurt pulled off his warm glove to shake her hand over the counter. Her warm, dry skin felt wonderful after the freezing cold that had numbed his digits.

"Congratulations, Kurt. What flavor can I get for you?"

The menu chalkboard behind the counter listed six basic flavors of hand-churned ice cream. Before Kurt could object that he didn't have any greens to spend on food (and neither did his friends), Blaine handed Amalie a yellow.

"I'm pretty sure this guy will have a scoop of mocha. And you know what the rest of us like."

Kurt tried not to smile too widely at the accurate order. Amalie dipped a metal ice cream scoop in water and set to filling six bowls with one, heaping scoop each. Kurt accepted the bowl of mocha ice cream with a thank you. He shivered just feeling the cold dessert in the palm of his hands.

They pulled chairs from other tables and all crowded around a single round table meant to seat two so that their thighs and shoulders brushed while they huddled into their coats and scarves to stay warm while eating their ice cream.

"We definitely need to do an ensemble for mid-winter," Dagny announced. "I don't know if _someone_ can dance because he declined to dance at all for his audition after we so generously offered to help him, but I have an amazing idea for a hip hop Christmas routine."

"No way," Jeff laughed, while Nick and Blaine groaned. "Every time we try to do anything hip hop or R&B, Blaine ends up jumping on the furniture and getting us in trouble with Ciara. Does no one else remember _Bills, Bills, Bills_ or _When I Get You Alone_?"

Kurt choked on a mouthful of ice cream.

"Fine. What about a tap routine?"

The other boys seemed much more amenable to that idea, but Kurt shifted nervously in his seat. He'd never tap danced before in his life, and it hadn't looked like the easiest thing to do when he'd watched Tina and Mike do it. He raised his hand off the table to object, but it wasn't noticed or was purposefully ignored.

"Awesome! I'll tell Yunjin to add us to the lineup and start choreography tomorrow. We should start rehearsing by the middle of this week if we want to get in any good performances. What size do you wear, Kurt? We'll have to find you some tap shoes."

Hana and Dagny lost themselves in the details of all the wonderful songs they could tap dance to without even waiting to hear Kurt's shoe size. The whole performance was _feit accompli_.

"I can't tap dance," Kurt muttered to no one in particular.

"Don't worry. Dagny always does Broadway tap with us and saves the jazz tap for the actual dancers," Jeff said around a mouthful of chocolate ice cream.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but his girlfriend tugged on his sleeve, drawing him into the conversation about the perfect winter songs for their set.

"This is going to be a disaster."

"Hey," Blaine said, nudging his shoulder, "It'll be fine. This is something you'd have to learn for musicals anyway. Dagny will teach you. But if you're really that nervous, we can do extra practices together."

"Really? You're not too busy?"

Blaine shook his head. "I mean, December is a really busy, but … I'll make time for you."

Kurt sucked in a deep breath and smiled in way he hoped wasn't too obvious. His eyes lingered on Blaine's handsome face after Dagny kicked the curly-headed boy under the table and demanded his attention.

December, Kurt thought, was going to be wonderful.

* * *

><p><strong>Credits:<strong> Lyrics from "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion.


	12. Eight

**EIGHT**

Blaine was not exaggerating when he said December was a busy month. Between impending finals at school and the program of performances for The Wonderland Company, the teenagers hardly had time to breathe. They were all increasingly jealous of Kurt's Incompletes and Dagny's diploma, and it might have caused some tiffs if they hadn't offered to proofread all papers, thus freeing up valuable time for research, writing, and rehearsals.

When the second week of December concluded, the younger performers celebrated with a mini-party in their room, which consisted of a movie and a full night of sleep. Dagny teased them mercilessly about being old codgers for the next three days.

"Let me help you across the street, Mr. Duval," she said.

She laughed as she took Nick's arm. The teasing happiness faded when their eyes met and Nick's fingers tightened around her wrist. Electricity crackled to life between them. Dagny's breath quickened and heart trebled its beat. They hovered inches from each other, leaning in just so slightly it was almost innocent, but Nick's tongue darted out to wet his lips.

A harsh cough interrupted the moment. Ciara glared daggers at Dagny, who immediately dropped Nick's hand. The old woman shooed Nick into Carrollers rehearsal.

"Ciara, I – "

"You're nineteen. He's fifteen. I told you to put a stop to it, and I swear to the Lord Almighty, Dagny, if you don't, I will." The grandmother-figure sighed. "Darling Dagny, I know how hard this must be for you, but no matter what you've been through, you're subject to the law just like everyone else."

The blonde girl turned away and rubbed a finger under the rim of her glasses to catch the moisture spilling onto her cheeks. Ciara made comforting circles on her back.

"It's not fair. Everyone else our age gets to act on their feelings."

"I know, dearie. When you love someone, really love them, it doesn't go away because you can't be together. You know that as well as everyone here."

"Yeah, but – "

"There's no 'but' here, Dagny. It stops now. I'm his guardian, and I've got to bring him up right. Turning a blind eye will do nothing but teach him it's all right to break laws as long as you don't get caught. We both know too many people have already taught him that. Make me a promise."

The girl nodded. "I promise, Ciara."

With all of her friends in Carrollers rehearsal, Dagny had nothing to do but go to work herself. She had already choreographed the tap routine while the others finished their term papers and took final exams, but she needed to master it before she could teach it to anyone else. Yunjin had scheduled their ensemble to perform at the end of next week, at the Winter Market Day.

The dance studio was on the second floor. The Carrollers vocal warm-ups filtered up through the floor and only cut off when Dagny queued up the playlist on the piece of crap device Kurt told her was called a Zoon (shortly before moaning about not having his several iPod shuffles).

The dancer stood in front of the full length mirrors and counted the beat in her head before launching into the routine. Her shoes clicked against the floor as she tapped her way across the room and back. She paid special attention to the way her long, athletic arms and legs moved through the steps as she practiced the routine again and again.

Choreographing for this group was always a challenge. Dagny was tall and athletic, Jeff was lanky, and Hana was a miniature-sized doll. Nick and Blaine were a little clumsy and laidback when it came to executing the dance moves. How Kurt fit in was up in the air, but Dagny had been a dancer from childhood, and she read body movement like others read faces. Kurt would do okay, provided he had a good memory and stopped sashaying when he danced.

She expected applause at some point, and Nick didn't disappoint her. Dagny pulled the Zoon off its dock as he made his way into the studio with his fists shoved into his pockets.

"It looks great."

"Thanks," she replied half-heartedly.

"So did Ciara read you the riot act? It was as much my fault. I can say something to her – "

"No. I'm older, so I'm responsible for keeping my hands to myself."

"Yeah, but not really."

Dagny could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn't look at him. She didn't trust herself not to rush across the room and crash her lips against his. Nothing about this was fair, not to Dagny, not to Nick, not to anyone caught in the middle.

"So what did you tell her?"

"I promised her that I would stop."

"Stop what?"

She didn't answer for a long time. "Nick, you should … you should find some high school girl and go to parties out by the lake and pretend to go finding in the forest so you can make out and take her to May Day with flowers in her hair. Those are rites of passage that you should experience."

"I will … After next June. I can have just as much fun stealing fireworks and setting them off around the lake next year as I can right now. More, actually, because it's flipping freezing right now, and fireworks are better suited to the Fourth of July anyway."

"Don't imply things you don't mean, Nick."

"Who says I don't mean them?" The boy took a step closer. "And I'm not implying anything; I'm saying it outright. On my sixteenth birthday, I'm going to kiss you senseless, Dagny Faraday."

The girl couldn't fight off the brilliant smile that blossomed over her lips or the giggle that escaped her throat. Nick blushed profusely at his own bluntness. They ducked their heads and avoided eye contact for a few moments while they pulled themselves together.

"You make me watch too many romantic comedies," Nick groused.

"Then I fully expect a John Hughes moment come June 30th."

"You'll have it."

**o o o**

"Blaine, this is ridiculous. I'm never going to be able to learn how to tap dance in _ten days_!"

Kurt stamped his tap shoe on the studio floor. It clicked rather more impressively than Kurt's genuine attempts at tap dancing had been. Blaine stopped mid-step and let his arms fall to his sides.

"You're doing great, Kurt. And I'm not even the best teacher."

"Dagny isn't going to be able to change the fact that the only formal dancing I've done has been choreographed by a high school Spanish teacher for show choir competitions."

Blaine wondered if this sulking had more to do with it nearing the holidays and less to do with the actual tap dancing. It wasn't easy, that first Christmas away from family and friends, and a lot had been thrown at Kurt in a short span of time. He'd already missed the American Thanksgiving, which Dagny told him was a pretty big deal (even if department stores did tend to skip over it).

He needed to cheer Kurt up. There were only two things he'd found that could do the trick: clothes and music. Clothes were out of the question because Blaine, like everyone else, was saving for Christmas presents for his friends. So music it would be.

"All right. Let's take a break then and try out some songs."

Kurt nodded ever so briefly to indicate that would be acceptable. Blaine grinned at his success.

"Hana and Dagny are going to do _Sisters … Sisters_ from White Christmas."

"I thought Dagny couldn't sing at all?"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "She can sing. Sometimes she's a little pitchy, and her range isn't very big, but she can definitely sing. Anyway, since they're doing that song, I thought we'd keep the whole set winter-themed instead of holiday specific. I thought, maybe, we could sing a duet."

The melancholy melted from Kurt's demeanor. He stood up straighter, arched an inquisitive brow, and tried to hide a smile in the corner of his mouth.

"Sounds like you have something specific in mind."

"I want us to sing _Baby, It's Cold Outside_."

Kurt's heart thundered in his chest, and he felt heat rise in his cheeks. He worked his lips to keep a besotted grin from moving him from interested to pathetic in a fraction of a second. He didn't trust his voice not to come out as a squeak, so he nodded his agreement.

There wasn't much in the way of props in the dance studio, just a line of chairs near the door, a coat rack, and the ballet rail, but Kurt made good use of the limited props when Blaine cued up the instrumental. Everything about the song thrilled Kurt: dancing around Blaine, the flirty looks, the way their voices blended together so perfectly.

The _clip-clip_ of their tap shoes added an unexpected, but pleasant quality to the song. Caught up in the moment, Kurt didn't realize how naturally Broadway-style tap dancing came to him. It wasn't until Blaine gave him a significant look during the bridge that he realized he wasn't making a complete mess of it. He did an impromptu skipping, tapping twirl around Blaine while he batted his lashes.

When the idea of singing this song with Kurt had occurred to Blaine, he wondered if it was a wise choice. It was about the flirtiest duet ever. But he decided (after wavering for a couple days) that since it was a performance, that made it okay. So when Kurt baited him coquettishly, Blaine didn't hold back playing "the wolf," as the sheet music described his part.

They ended the song by collapsing onto two armless chairs under the windows overlooking Broadway. For a few seconds, they grinned happily at each other. Their voices sounded wonderful together, and they moved so well together, even without practice.

"It's too bad they'd never let us perform it together."

Blaine furrowed his brow. "Yunjin has already put us on the schedule. What we perform is entirely up to us. She's our producer, but she's not going to stop us unless we sound terrible, which we don't."

Kurt sat up straighter. "Wait. So … you want to do that song with me in public?"

"Of course I do, dummy," Blaine said lightly as he nudged Kurt's shoulder. "If it's the part about doing it in public that you're worried about …. Our duet will be part of the program. Everyone who comes to see us will know that two openly gay men are singing to each other. You know from school that Here isn't a utopia, but LGBT-themed performances have been part of The Wonderland Company for years, just like they have been part of the entertainment industry on the other side."

The taller boy looked momentarily overwhelmed before he settled on a happy grin. "Well, then I think we've found our song. What do you think Jeff and Nick will do?"

"I think _A Marshmallow World_. Plus, they'll be playing Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye in _Sisters … Sisters_."

Kurt and Blaine laughed for a solid five minutes imagining Nick and Jeff dancing around the stage with peacock blue feather fans. They were still laughing when the other teenagers came into the dance studio to begin rehearsing their group numbers: _Sleigh Ride_ and _Winter World of Love_. At Kurt's insistence (backed up by Blaine and Dagny), they were completely holiday neutral.

"I've worked out all the choreography for _Sleigh Ride_ and _Winter World of Love_. I still need to know your duet numbers so I can work with you on those. Let's start with _Sleigh Ride_ since it's the most challenging."

Dagny had worked out the choreography in triples – Jeff, Dagny, and Kurt and Nick, Hana, and Blaine – but that proved too difficult for Kurt as a beginner and for Nick in general.

After Nick sent Hana flying for the third time and Blaine just managed to catch her before she face-planted, and Kurt gave into his own frustration at being so much less skilled than his dancing partners, Dagny called a break. While they sat around sipping bottles of water, Blaine made the suggestion everyone else had been thinking from the beginning.

"Can't we just do partners? It's so much simpler." When no one said anything for a moment, he added, "Kurt and I are doing _Baby, It's Cold Outside_."

The girls gasped excitedly, and the boys parodied it by fawning over each other. Blaine rolled his eyes.

"My point being," the curly-haired boy said with exasperation, "is that Kurt and I can be dance partners. If you're all right with that, Kurt."

Kurt gave Blaine the same happy grin he'd worn after they decided to do _Baby, It's Cold Outside_ and nodded.

"What if I wanted to be Kurt's dance partner?" Jeff asked, all mock seriousness. "What if I'm sick of dancing with Dagny all the time? She's almost as tall as me, and it's so hard to do the lifts."

"Are you calling me fat?" the girl asked warningly.

Hana stood up on top of her chair to do a comparison between Dagny and Kurt, who were exactly the same height, while the blonde glared daggers at Jeff, who stumbled over his words in an attempt to backpedal.

After Jeff had apologized profusely enough, the ensemble spent the next hour reworking Dagny's choreography to _Sleigh Ride_. The fact that Kurt was taller, but Blaine more masculine tripped her up a couple times. She didn't know who should lead and kept changing her mind.

"Oh, for – Dagny, Kurt is leading," Blaine snapped finally.

A silence, in which all of their friends bit their lips and tried not to comment, followed. The boy flushed to his ears. Kurt's reflection in the night-darkened window looked equally mortified by the way their friends had taken the comment. They stood awkward a few inches apart, their hands still clasped and sweating a little, with Kurt's hand on Blaine's side and Blaine's on Kurt's shoulder.

"Okay, well … Yeah. All right. From the top, then, with Kurt leading."

They went through the dance one more time. Nick still didn't have the choreography down completely, and Kurt had trouble figuring out when to tap his feet and when to just dance normally, but they'd come a long way.

As they darted across the narrow alley back into the apartment building, Dagny rattled off a rehearsal schedule more intense than anything Kurt had experienced before. New Directions met as a class every day, and they had practice the Saturday before competitions too. Dagny had the group rehearsing every day, plus duets two days next week. That was on top of The Carrollers rehearsals every day and six performances.

"I need a planner or something," Kurt grumbled, as they climbed the stairs.

A letter was waiting for Kurt on the mat inside their door when he got upstairs. Soren had written to ask Kurt to stop by the Administration to fill out some paperwork to make him an official part of The Wonderland Company (thus a professional performer) and permanent tenant in 305D.

"I'll go with you tomorrow," Jeff said. "I haven't visited Anjali in a while."

That didn't make sense to Kurt, but he was too exhausted from dancing to ask about it right now. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep.

**o o o**

Rather predictably, Jeff's idea of an appropriate time to go see Soren and Kurt's expectations varied considerably. Since he didn't have school and rehearsal started at noon, Jeff planned to sleep as long as humanly possible. And since he rightly assumed Kurt would barge into his room and shake him awake, he'd slid his computer chair under the doorknob so no one could get in.

"Do you want to do something to pass the time?" Nick asked from the sofa.

Kurt huffed in annoyance and turned away from Jeff's door. The hot springs beneath Here used for geothermal power that made the water scalding did not translate to the air. No matter how high they cranked the thermostat, it always felt too cold in the building. Nick had wrapped two thick blankets around himself, and the toes of his thermal socks peaked out the bottom. Even fully dressed, Kurt felt the chill seeping into his bones. He grabbed another blanket as he settled into the armchair.

"Why don't you tell me about the Mid-Winter Market Day?"

Nick marked his place in the book he was reading. Kurt caught a glimpse of the title, something about bacterial enzymes.

"It's like a giant winter carnival. I'm sure you've been to dozens like it on the other side, but there's an international flavor to this one. You're going to love it. Obviously, you know all about the entertainment. There's all kinds of food and fairy lights and cultural celebrations. I know you're not into religion, but there's something amazing about realizing how connected our cultures are, even though we come from all over the world.

"But, what I think you're really going to love is the shopping. Since most cultures exchange presents around this time of year, Ayo – she's in charge of the warehouse – has what I guess you'd call an inventory reduction sale. So I hope you saved those blues, because one will buy you four items of clothing."

Nick laughed at the way Kurt immediately perked up. He could have gone on for hours chattering excitedly about the kinds of clothes he hoped would be there, but movement behind Jeff's door gave him pause. Kurt accosted his lanky friend the moment he appeared, shoving him into the bathroom, and giving him precisely twenty minutes to get ready.

"Okay. I'm going to give Dagny her jacket back," Kurt called through the door. "I'll be back at exactly 10:25, and then we're going to the Administration."

The bathroom door opened after Kurt left with the borrowed clothes over his arm. Jeff leaned against the jamb with his toothbrush in hand and foamy toothpaste leaking out the corner of his mouth. Nick cocked an eyebrow over the top of his book when his best friend tried to talk around the toothbrush.

"I said," Jeff said, removing the plastic and letting a dribble of foam escape his mouth, "he's kind of bossy, isn't he? Also, was he really wearing a girls' jacket yesterday?"

"You're kind of disgusting. But, yeah, I guess he is." Nick shrugged. "Maybe that means he's finally getting comfortable here if he can be himself around all of us."

"What do you mean 'all of us'?"

"I mean, not just Blaine."

Jeff scrubbed his teeth thoughtfully, and then retreated into the bathroom to rinse and spit. Nick went back to reading his book in peace, but the blond boy decided to interrupt again before he'd reached the end of the first paragraph on the page.

"Do you think they're, you know, together?"

"They better not be!" Nick snapped. "Seriously, Kurt just got here. You know what's coming and how hard that's going to be for him. Christ, if Blaine lost his mind over a boy again …."

"Whoa! Calm down, _Dad_." Jeff held up his hands in surrender, as if he was the one who had done something wrong. "Blaine can be a little … Blaine-ish, but he's not an idiot."

"Blaine-ish? I'm definitely using that as an adjective from now on, and when Blaine wants to know what we mean by that, I'm referring him to you."

Jeff scoffed. "You're the – "

The blond boy darted into his bedroom when the suite door opened, and Kurt flounced back in. Jeff banged around his wardrobe for a few minutes and hopped out of the bedroom on one foot, pulling his shoe on as he jumped.

"Ready," he beamed at Kurt.

The countertenor arched an eyebrow, but made no comment.

The blustery weather still had not broken, and an icy chill slapped the boys in the face when they emerged onto Broadway. Kurt huddled down into his scarf and shoved his gloved hands deep into his pockets. They walked with heads bowed until they rounded the corner onto Main and gained some reprieve from the wind, but not the frigid chill.

"So who is Anjali?" Kurt asked.

Jeff grinned at the name. "My foster mother, from when I first arrived here. She's the one who realized I could be a performer what with all my multiple viewings of her favorite Bollywood films to memorize the dance numbers. I promised to still visit her when I moved into the dorm last year."

Even the geothermal heat felt blissfully warm when they darted inside the Administration. Jeff bounded up the stairs to see Anjali, who was one of Here's Administrators, while Kurt made his way over to Soren's desk. The Dane greeted him with a warm smile.

"So it seems fate brought you to the right person."

Kurt paused with the top button of his coat half out of the button hole.

"I'm talking about Blaine. You walk through a door on the other side and Blaine finds you right away? He takes you to live on Broadway and introduces you to the very people who will fulfill your dreams? That's too much of a coincidence to be anything but fate."

Kurt smiled tightly. He didn't believe in fate, but respected that everyone had their own theory about why they'd found their way here.

"I wonder how you would have met Blaine on the other side," Soren finished with a genial smile.

"I don't think I would have. He's Canadian; I'm from Ohio."

"The world is a much smaller place than you might imagine, Kurt. Here are the papers for you to fill out."

Kurt spent the next hour signing on lines and initialing agreements. He'd never been so sick of writing his own name before.

"How do you know Blaine?" Kurt asked, while Soren added an 'H' tab to another file folder. "When I first arrived, he said you're like an uncle to him."

The Dane smiled widely. "Did he say that? We know each other through your school. I'm one of the GSA sponsors. My husband is your Linguistics professor."

Kurt felt a thrill course through him. _Husband_. The word buzzed in his head. Gay marriage was recognized here. Here wasn't a utopia by any means, but it was something like the world Kurt had hoped to live in when he was older.

"I can absolutely imagine you and Professor Hirsch together," Kurt said.

Soren chuckled. "You won't have to just imagine much longer. We will be at your performance next week."

When Jeff came downstairs from visiting with his foster mother, he had a box balanced on his forearms. Kurt said a quick good-bye to Soren.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh! Can we stop by the library and borrow that movie?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "No. What's in the box?"

"Fine. Then I won't tell you. But you'll love it."

"That's just mean."

"And the way you side-eyed my favorite sweater this morning wasn't?"

Kurt clamped his mouth shut. He would burn the red and black monstrosity Jeff had on under his coat if he could.

"So when am I going to find out what's in the box?"

"Uh …. When don't we have a rehearsal or performance?"

"Monday morning."

"Monday morning," Jeff said, with a dazzling grin.

They turned the corner onto Broadway, putting the wind at their backs. Kurt stopped short at the sight playing out in front of him. Men on tall ladders were hanging decorations from lampposts and in windows: strings of fairy lights and silver bells mainly. Ciara and her friend Caroline ran between the ladders shouting directions – higher, lower, right, left – and waving their arms madly.

Seeing the Christmas decorations going up, it finally hit Kurt that it was Christmastime. The amused smile he'd worn at Jeff's antics faded. It was Christmastime, and he wouldn't be with his family.

"Maybe you won't like what's in the box," Jeff murmured.

He flipped open the lid to reveal a box of white fairy lights, maroon tinsel, and a tiny ceramic plug-in Christmas tree. The boy shrugged.

"I thought it might make the season a little easier if we put some Christmas cheer into our suite, so I asked Anjali for some of her spare decorations."

"It will. I just …. Thank you, Jeff."

Kurt forced a smile onto his lips and avoided looking too closely at the decorations going up. They looked a little too similar to the tacky ornaments around the courthouse in downtown Lima that even his dad loved to poke fun at.

"Nothing cheers me up quite like decorating a room. Except shopping. And solos."

"Good thing we have Market Day coming up, and you've got a duet with Blaine to look forward to."

Kurt made his lips widen his fake smile, but he felt no cheer at all.


	13. Nine

**NINE**

The Carrollers rehearsed every afternoon for their almost daily performances. Learning to sing in Yiddish for the Hanukah celebrations and Latin for Catholic mass proved much more difficult than learning the harmonies. That was nothing compared to learning the _bhajanas_ for Pancha Ganapati.

"How even do you pronounce this? There are about twenty-two letters in this word," Dagny said, while looking over their sheet music.

Blaine nearly started a riot by asking his friends to learn "a couple" songs in Tagalog to sing at the Filipino Christmas party.

In between the relentless schedule, when normally teenagers would collapse onto their beds and listen to music, they had things like laundry and cleaning to concern themselves with. Kurt, who had always split household chores with his dad, found it second nature to take care of an apartment.

They also found a spare hour late one night to decorate the suite for Christmas. Fairy lights in the window and tinsel around the door frames cheered up the place remarkably, and Kurt announced his plans to decorate properly once the holiday season ended.

**o o o**

"Kurt! Kurt, wake up!" Jeff shouted.

The mattress jostled violently when the lanky blond jumped up and down around Kurt's legs. The countertenor started awake and blinked dumbly at the alarm clock on his nightstand. The clock hands read 2:34.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Kurt demanded in a sleep-rough voice. "It is literally the middle of the night."

He protested when the warm comforter was torn away and someone tried to stuff his feet into boots. Kurt kicked, and Nick cursed loudly.

"That's what you get for waking me up in the middle of the night!" Kurt snapped.

His friends were not taking no for an answer. Next thing he knew, Dagny was charging into his room and physically hauling him out of bed, wrapping him up in his winter clothes, and dragging him into the suite.

Blaine emerged from his bedroom around the same time buttoning up his black peacoat over his pajamas. He laughed at Kurt's disgruntled face.

"I told them to explain. Please tell me they did."

Nick and Jeff tried to look innocent while they pushed Kurt out into the hallway. Amara and Ebele flashed the first smiles Kurt had ever seen as they headed downstairs, and Hana met up with them just inside the door. The small girl still had her marshmallow-like coat, and tonight she had added another hat and two scarves to her winter clothes. Judging from the way she couldn't put her arms down at her sides, she had significant layers on under the coat as well.

"This is a stupid tradition," the girl grumbled. "Last year, I almost lost three toes."

Kurt pushed back against Nick and Jeff's insistent hands, but Blaine laughed merrily and threw his arm around Hana's shoulders. He looked so happy about whatever they were about to do, Kurt couldn't help but be curious.

When they stepped outside, Kurt thought he understood. The cold snap that sent frigid winds howling through the streets of Here had broken at last. The first snow of the year had arrived and brought with it a windless, chilly night. About three inches blanketed the walkways and window ledges. Soft, fluffy snowflakes drifted down from the midnight blue sky, and the huge full moon bathed the whole town in soft light. Everything smelled crisp and clean with just a hint of pine sap and evergreen and sugar.

"I take it you all like snow," Kurt said. "Except Hana."

"Love it. But we have to get started if we want to win," Nick said.

"Every year during the first snow, all the teenagers in Here sneak out of their houses. We have a snowman building contest."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at Blaine's explanation. That's what teenagers in Here did? He realized it would be difficult to get up to much trouble given their limited resources, but surely some intrepid degenerate was dying to give all his friends rotgut or get his girlfriend pregnant or huff glue. But not Kurt's friends. No, they built snowmen. He didn't know if that was comforting or sad.

"Points go to the most creative display," Jeff explained. "One year, they staggered them all over Broadway, so everyone was walking in zigzags until spring. Last year, they played hide-and-seek between the buildings. We're thinking of filling up the College Quad this year."

Jeff, Nick, and Dagny took off running down Broadway. Hana shuffled after them as fast as her impression of the Michelin man allowed with a cloth bag, presumably full of scarves and button noses, dangling from her right arm. When Kurt made no sign of being eager to follow, Blaine grabbed his hand and pulled him down the snowy path. They ran gloved hand-in-gloved hand just like they had through the greenhouse the first day they met.

Blaine glanced over his shoulder at Kurt with a wide, happy smile. Water droplets had accumulated on his glasses, and he was sure a dusting of snow covered his messy curls, but he could care less. Tonight was the first snow, and he was holding hands with Kurt. A beatific smile stretched over Kurt's lips.

"Wait, wait," Kurt panted. He laughed lightly, and his breath misted between them. "I just had an idea."

Kurt turned and tugged on Blaine's arm. They called out to their friends while they made a hasty retreat back to Broadway. Along the way, they passed other groups of roving teenagers who looked as excited to be out of bed at all hours as Kurt and his friends. There were even some groups that looked college-aged, although there was no college in Here, and they were supposedly gainfully employed adults.

"This had better be good, Kurt," Dagny grumbled. "We've already lost half an hour!"

When Kurt explained his idea, a roar of laughter and approval came from his friends. It was no easy feat, but they worked for a solid two hours on making snowmen until Hana started to cry she was so cold, and even the Canadian among them had to admit staying outside any longer wasn't a good idea. The six teenagers stood back for a moment to appreciate their work.

"You are a genius," Nick said, tossing an arm over Kurt's shoulders.

When the adults living on Broadway went to their windows the following morning and saw Broadway clear of snow, but no snowmen in sight, they would wonder what their teenagers had been doing making all that racket last night. Then it would occur to them the majority of the noise came from the fire escapes, and they would look up and see dozens of snowmen dressed in costumes and props borrowed from The Wonderland lining the rooftops along Broadway: _Swan Lake_, _RENT_, _Carmen_, _Romeo and Juliet_, _Wicked_, and _Singin' in the Rain_.

"He's right, you know. You _are_ a genius," Blaine said. "Where do you even get an idea like that?"

While the others tromped upstairs to get a few extra hours of sleep, Kurt started up the Starbuck's coffee machine in the dining room. Blaine loitered downstairs with him.

"My freshman year of high school, some jocks nailed our lawn furniture to the roof." Blaine bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing, but Kurt grinned appreciatively as he shook cinnamon into the black coffee.

"In hindsight, I see the humor in that one. Although, it wasn't very fun helping my dad get it off the roof."

"Can I take that to mean those jocks weren't your bullies?" Blaine asked, while he poured espresso and steamed milk into a mug.

" They were, but then they weren't. After we got to know each other in glee club, they stopped. Well, mostly. Sometimes Puck – Noah – forgets that words are form of bullying too. Finn was never much of a bully, but he went along with the other jocks so he could fit in. We had a big falling out last year, but he's practically my brother now. At least, I think my dad was close to proposing to his mom."

"Falling out?"

"Yeah. Partly it was my fault for pushing – I had a crush on him – but mostly it was his unresolved latent homophobia. I'd love to say that's completely resolved now, but … we had another disagreement earlier this year when I wanted to sing a duet in glee club with Sam."

Blaine felt a stab of jealousy, and with a sinking feeling, realized there was a question he had never asked Kurt.

"Sam. He's … your boyfriend?"

"No," Kurt said quickly. Too quickly, and he cringed. "Uh, no. I've never had a boyfriend. Sam is straight. How I was supposed to know that is beyond me. The guy dyes his hair blond and styles it like Justin Bieber. He agreed to sing a duet with me and didn't back out when he got flack for it. So when he started chasing after Quinn – who is a girl – I was … surprised."

"And hurt," Blaine added knowingly.

"And hurt," Kurt conceded.

Blaine and Kurt turned to each other with coffee mugs in extended hands at the same time. They peered into the mugs, and then at each other with growing smiles. Blaine had made a non-fat mocha, and Kurt had made a drip with cinnamon.

"Did we just …"

"I think we did," Blaine laughed.

They exchanged coffee mugs and sipped at the pleasantly warm drinks without breaking eye contact. A flush appeared on Kurt's cheeks that he hoped he could pass off as wind burn because Blaine knew his coffee order, and Kurt knew just how much cinnamon Blaine took in his coffee. It was such a little thing, and yet that made it so much more special.

"We should go upstairs and get warm," Blaine said quietly.

Kurt nodded and followed his friend – who he hoped one day soon would be something more – back to the suite. Nick and Jeff had disappeared into their rooms, leaving Kurt and Blaine free to wrap themselves in blankets and sit closer than strictly necessary on the sofa while they finished their coffees.

"Kurt, I know it's not the easiest thing to talk about your life on the other side. It really means a lot to me that you're willing to share that part of your life with me."

Blaine felt that that statement was utterly inadequate to describe how deeply it touched him that Kurt trusted him enough to mention his friends by name and talk about their relationships. That he'd even admitted to being rejected _twice_ by his crushes spoke volumes.

"You're my best friend, Blaine."

Kurt sounded a little breathless. Blaine understood the feeling.

"What I'm trying to say, Kurt, is that I want to share my past with you too. If you want to hear it," he hurried to add. "I don't mean to unload on you or anything. I know you have so much still to work through yourself, and I don't want to be a burden."

" You've listened to me, you've been there for me every time I've needed someone from the first moment I got here. The very least I can do is listen to whatever you want to get off your chest."

Blaine cupped his palms around the cooling mug and stared into the coffee dregs for a several moments.

"Thank you, Kurt. We have a really long day –"

"Blaine. I don't want to push you, but …. It sounded for a minute there like you really wanted to tell me something."

The curly-haired boy swallowed thickly and shook his head. "No. I mean, one day. But it's Christmastime, and tomorrow – today – is the Winter Market, and –"

Kurt's impossibly soft hand closing over his wrist brought Blaine up short. His palm fell off the coffee mug and onto his thigh. Kurt's fingers slid up the inside of his wrist and closed around his palm. He looked up slowly at Kurt's open, honest, sincere face and saw genuine concern in his lovely blue-green eyes. Blaine's resolve faded and melted into nothing.


	14. Interlude: Blaine

**INTERLUDE**

Steam from the scalding hot water billowed out of the communal showers into the locker room and fogged up the high, rectangular windows peering out over the football field. The din only twenty-three footballers coming off the last practice before the first home game of the season could make echoed off the concrete walls and black metal lockers.

A bold black and purple logo painted on the wall declared this locker room property of the Western High School Berries. For obvious reasons, the students at Western preferred to be called Westies. Their history teacher said it should be equally obvious why that was a bad idea, but no one cared to listen to ancient Mrs. Evans.

Blaine stood with his back to the locker room. It was a dangerous move turning his back on the rest of the football team, but equally dangerous to let his eyes focus on anything but his locker or the wall. The team had not reacted well to Blaine coming out.

Their disdain had shocked him. For over a year, same sex couples in Canada had been able to legally marry. None of his friends had ever indicated in any way they thought it should be any different. In their classes, they even supported the school district enforcing the zero tolerance no bullying policy they had in the North Vancouver schools.

But two words had changed everything.

Suddenly, the no bullying policy was a terrible idea. It was for wimps who couldn't deal with getting their feelings hurt. Words that had never been bandied about in their school were scrawled on lockers, Blaine's and anyone else out of the closet.

And those few other students who were out and proud, while supportive of Blaine, obviously resented him messing up everything for them. Sharing a school with a group of gay and lesbian students hadn't been a problem for the football team, but sharing a locker room with a gay kid was.

Because Blaine turned his back on the locker room, he didn't see the thrown elbow coming his way from McPherson. The edge of the open locker caught him on the side of the nose while he was pulling his jeans on; the locking mechanism almost hit him square in the eye. He finished getting dressed with his head ducked to hide the painful welt and tried not to cast surreptitious glances around.

"Collins is having a party at his folks' haunted corn maze after the game," McPherson called loudly. "I'm going as a zombie football player, and Holly is going as a zombie cheerleader. Nobody better copy us!"

The rest of the team yelled back abuse, either because they wanted to be zombies or they wanted to go with Holly Hennessey. Blaine wanted to add his opinion, that the costumes were unoriginal, but he kept his mouth shut.

"What are you going as, Blaine?" Jackson asked softly.

Jack was one the better guys on the team. Maybe he was a little reticent to tell the other guys to back off, but Blaine could fight his own battles. At least when he was with Jack he didn't have to worry about being treated differently than he had been before.

"Whatever it is, it should be good," Holt cut in. "The gays are just _fabulous_ at coming up with costumes."

The other guys, except Jack, guffawed. McPherson screamed at them to shut up. Blaine tensed, knowing something bad was about to happen. So did most of the other guys. They bailed in a flurry of slammed lockers and shirts hastily pulled over heads. They made a scrum at the door in a hurry to exit. Jack teetered on the brink of speaking up, but Blaine jerked his head at the door. The other boy took the out and bolted, leaving Blaine alone with McPherson, Holt, and two linebackers, Samuels and Dubray.

"Why are you still on the football team, Anderson?" McPherson asked. "Shouldn't you be singing showtunes or something?"

"Maybe he just wants a peek at all this every day after practice," Dubray chortled.

He lewdly gestured to the paunch hanging far over his belt, but Blaine figured he was actually referring to the penis buried under the rolls of excess fat. The other guys laughed and patted Dubray's back, like they believed he was hot stuff.

"I don't dig on boys who count pie eating contests as a favored pastime and break out in a sweat walking up a flight of stairs," Blaine shot back angrily.

Dubray cracked his knuckles threateningly, but he wouldn't act until McPherson said he could.

"You never answered Henley's question, Anderson," Holt said, with a knowing smirk. "What are you going to wear to Collins' party?"

Blaine didn't see where this was going, but he knew they had some new humiliation in mind. These guys, who used to throw their arms around his shoulders and call him "our Hobbit" affectionately because, while he was small, he could sprint the ball down the field like no one else on the team, now spent as much time now thinking up ways to hassle him as studying their plays.

"Clark Kent."

His friend-date, Ethan, was going as Superman, complete with the tights and cape. It was their idea of a good joke, for Superman and Clark Kent to go to a party together. He didn't mention Ethan, though, because there was no point dragging someone else into this.

"Well, we had a different idea, Anderson. We thought long and hard about what a fairy should wear to a costume party, and then it hit us!"

Holt pulled a bag out of McPherson's locker and shook off the plastic. The costume was easily recognizable: Tinker Bell. Blaine felt heat rising in his cheeks, and he clenched his fists at his sides. Samuels and Dubray, who hadn't been in on the joke, gave great, booming laughs.

"If you had to think long and hard to come up with that you're probably pretty close to being academically disqualified from playing football. I suggest spending more time in the tutoring center," Blaine spat.

McPherson grinned darkly at his fellow bullies. "How's about we see how Anderson looks in his costume?"

It was four against one, and they all outmatched Blaine in height and weight, but he put up a fight like they'd never seen from a boy his size. Blaine's knuckles bruised from where he punched Dubray's jaw, and Samuel's went down when Blaine's heel connected with his stomach. But, in the end, the four beefy football players pinned Blaine to the ground. He thrashed and kicked when they wrestled the dress over his shoulders, and the fabric ripped when his elbow caught in the armhole.

"Coach is coming!" Samuels hissed.

The four players leapt up from the ground, leaving Blaine panting, sweating, and trapped inside the torn costume.

"Parting gift for you, Anderson," McPherson said.

He pulled a wand from the bag on the bench, popped off the end, and poured glitter onto Blaine. The boy on the ground cried out in pain when the glitter got into his eyes. He rolled and staggered to his feet with his eyes squeezed shut and heels of his palms pressed into his eye sockets. He stumbled in the general direction of the showers and groped for the button that would send a cascade of water down from the showerhead.

Blaine didn't care that his sweater and jeans were getting soaked as he stood under the shower washing the glitter off his face and out of his eyes. He ripped off the Tinker Bell costume and threw down the sopping fabric onto the floor. It fell over the drain, and a pool of water formed around his shoes. His contacts washed out and floated among the glittery pool.

He turned off the tap and collapsed onto the slick tile with his forearms on his knees and his forehead on his arms. He might have cried while the water pounded down into his eyes or maybe it was a side effect of flushing the glitter, but his eyes felt raw.

"Are you all right, son?"

The voice was deep with a maturity that marked it as belonging to a teacher, but he didn't recognize it or know of any teacher who would speak with an Irish accent. He looked up slowly, hoping his eyes weren't as red as they felt. An elderly Irishman in a tweed jacket and felt hat smiled kindly at him.

Blaine jolted when he saw his surroundings. The locker room was gone. He sat in the middle of a narrow, cobblestone street flanked by small cottage-style homes and a blue-gray sky full of nimbus clouds overhead.

"What the – ?" Blaine screeched. He scrambled to his feet and turned in a full circle until he faced the genial Irishman again. "Who are you? And more importantly, where am I?"

"Cillian O'Leary, at your service. I'd be happy to explain everything to you, young man, as soon as I've got you into some warm, dry clothes. Come on. We're not far from my home."

"I'm not going home with a stranger."

"And you're not. I've told you my name is Cillian O'Leary. I'm the one taking home a stranger because you haven't done the polite thing and introduced yourself. But all the same, you're soaked through and you'll catch pneumonia in this chilly wind if I don't. So, come on, get a move on."

"Where am I?"

Cillian threw his hands up in the air. "In case you missed it, boy-o, my last speech there was a nudge to get you to tell me your name."

"Tell me where I am first," Blaine insisted.

"You're Here."


	15. Ten

**TEN**

In the days that followed Blaine telling Kurt how he came to Here, they became even closer friends. Blaine had always thought baring his soul like that for the first time would leave him wrecked and pitiable, but he could not have been more wrong. Maybe it was that he'd picked the right person to share his story with, because Blaine felt closer than ever to Kurt.

Whenever he and Kurt were alone, he felt the urge to share one more secret until Kurt knew him better than anyone else in the world. He felt safe with Kurt knowing him completely and restless that he couldn't share all of himself with Kurt yet.

"Are you ready to go yet?"

Blaine looked up from the bathroom mirror to find Kurt leaning against the jamb with the burnt orange coat draped over one arm. He fussed with one more curl before deciding he was never going to get it to lay right anyway.

"Did the other guys already leave?"

Kurt nodded. "I told them it was okay. I wanted to wait for you."

Blaine's heart flipped over in his chest. "Well, I'll try to do my best as your official Mid-Winter Market tour guide."

For the past two days, warehouse clerks, entrepreneurs, and administrators had been running themselves ragged to turn the town square into a giant market festival. Canvas covers went up over tables of all shapes and sizes half-buried in snow to protect merchandize; the park and gazebo were cleaned and merrily decorated; chefs stockpiled their delicacies; and entertainers rehearsed relentlessly.

So that everyone could enjoy the Mid-Winter Market, Ciara had staggered the performances at The Wonderland throughout the day. The teenagers' secular, winter-themed performance was scheduled for four o'clock. Small groups of Carrollers were also to assemble at the gazebo four times throughout the day to sing carols. Blaine was in the final grouping, Kurt in the second.

"Which takes priority, breakfast or shopping?" Blaine asked teasingly.

Blaine insisted on buying a pair of pasties from a diner on Boulevard just across the street from the market. It was early yet, and not many townspeople milled about the tables full of sale items. Kurt and Blaine meandered down Boulevard and around the corner onto Parkway while chewing on their pasties.

"This all looks so incredible. I don't know where to begin." Blaine cocked an eyebrow at Kurt, and the taller boy relented. "Okay, yes, I do. Show me to the clothes!"

Blaine led them all the way down Parkway and onto High Street. The entire block sold nothing but textiles: clothes, fabrics, shoes, hats, and accessories. The far away dreamy look in Kurt's eye made Blaine laugh. He checked his watch.

"You have to sing in two hours, and you should warm up before."

"Oh my God. Okay. Speed shopping. I can do this."

Kurt launched into the same frenzied, incomprehensible shopping mode he had his first time in the warehouse. Blaine didn't pay quite as close attention as before because he was doing some of his own Christmas shopping in this part of the market.

"Wait." Blaine eyed the armful of clothes Kurt clutched to his chest. "That is definitely not your size or style."

"Of course it's not. It's a winter coat for Hana." Kurt cocked his head at Blaine's curious expression. "Oh my God! You thought I was going crazy buying clothes for myself this close to Christmas? Do I really come across as that selfish?"

"No!" the shorter boy said quickly. "It's just … four for one, and you only have six outfits, and we all know how much you love fashion. No one would blame you."

Kurt lifted his chin in the air. "Six very carefully selected outfits, thank you very much. I'll have you know I've created sixteen different combinations of those clothes and another one occurred to me this morning."

"So which one of those is for me?"

"Honestly, Blaine. I'm not buying your presents right in front of you."

"Presents plural?"

Kurt silenced him with a wave of his hand and flounced away to the next table full of neatly folded button downs. Blaine felt ridiculously pleased that Kurt wanted to buy him more than one gift, and it made all the trouble he'd gone to get Kurt's present seem less extravagant.

They shopped until Kurt had to go meet up with his group of carolers to warm up. Blaine found Dagny and Jeff rifling through a crate of picture frames looking for just the one to match an old photograph of Cillian and Ciara they wanted to frame. At eleven, they made their way over to the gazebo to hear Kurt and Nick's group singing.

Singing a cappella was not something Kurt had done often, and it wasn't something he would care to do often. But letting his voice soar among the interwoven harmonies of _Carol of the Bells_ and watching the smiles form on faces in the audience proved more rewarding than any solo in a mediocre pop song. His voice, even one among many, genuinely touched the audience and made their holiday a little brighter.

From his place in the second row of carolers under the gazebo dome, he spotted Blaine, Dagny, and Jeff in the audience. Hana, he knew, was off helping Yunjin get the costumes ready for the performance of _A Christmas Carol_ tonight. His friends' presence brought a wider smile to his lips. He glanced over at Nick who stood beside him and saw a similar happiness in his face.

"That was amazing, you guys!" Dagny cried, throwing her arms around both boys at once. "God, I'm going to cry. _Carol of the Bells_ is my favorite Christmas song."

To keep Dagny from bursting into tears, they made their way over to the booths along Main where long queues formed to play the games their teachers had organized. They spent the afternoon playing the hat toss (like horseshoes, but trying to land a top hat on a snowman's head), tug-o-war, and strike out with snowballs. The last game Nick swore was rigged; it was impossible to knock over metal cans with a snowball.

After a late lunch, they returned their shopping to their rooms and went to meet up with Hana at The Wonderland to warm up for their performance.

Kurt had designed their costumes and sewed them from bolts of cloth and old clothes in The Wonderland's costume closet. The boys wore black slacks with deep blue jackets and bowties; the girls wore a more feminine style in the same colors. It was the design Kurt had planned to use for the boys vs. girls competition in glee club. Making the clothes had put him in a funk for a few days, but the style fit the songs, and Kurt had put a lot of time into designing the outfits.

When Yunjin called places, Blaine reluctantly tore himself away from the mirror – his curls would just not cooperate – and went to his place behind the curtain. Kurt was already there bouncing on the balls of his feet and pale as a sheet.

"Kurt? Are you nervous?"

"This is my first solo in front of an audience. Ever. Don't judge me." Kurt glanced sidelong at Blaine and gave a little smile. "Okay. Judge me. Has anyone ever actually died on stage?"

"I think it's adorable. I think you're adorable," Blaine replied. "And the only ones dying are going to be the audience, because you're going to kill this thing."

Blaine thought Kurt relaxed a little as Dagny, Hana, Nick, and Jeff took their places around the set, which they'd decided should look like a cozy living room, complete with fake fireplace, leather sofa, and upright piano. Yunjin announced them, the lights went down, and the curtain parted as the band in the pit started playing _Winter World of Love_.

Through the light haze, Kurt could see that they had a packed house, but he tried not to think too much about how the microphone attached to his lapel amplified his voice. Instead, he focused on the soprano melody (Hana sang mezzo, Dagny alto, much to his delight) and the warmth of Blaine's hand in his as they danced slowly together across the stage.

The audience applauded when the song concluded, and Kurt led Blaine off the stage. Dagny and Hana did a wonderful rendition of _Sisters … Sisters_ with Nick and Jeff in the background mimicking their tap dance with feathered fans.

The girls vacated the stage next, leaving Nick and Jeff to croon _A Marshmallow World_ to the audience. They sounded almost nothing like Bing Crosby and Dean Martin, but because they knew it and put their own spin on the song, it worked remarkably well. Being Jeff and Nick, though, they couldn't perform it straight. They finished with Nick comically dipping Jeff, which the audience approved of laughingly.

Kurt felt shaky and unsteady as the song ended. He and Blaine were up next, and the audience would hear his voice alone for the first time. Blaine gave him an encouraging smile as they took their places behind the sofa on the stage.

When the music started, Blaine began the dance with a charming twirl and gesture to Kurt at his cue. Although he'd feared he would open his mouth and nothing would happen, the melody and dance steps came to the countertenor naturally. He and Blaine danced around each other and the furniture, flirting shamelessly as the song invited them to do.

The audience exploding in applause brought Kurt out of the song and back to reality, where he sat on the leather sofa next to Blaine, still holding the final note of _Baby, It's Cold Outside_ while the tenor held a wonderful, harmonious falsetto note. They gazed at each other, a little wonderstruck, until Dagny, Hana, Nick, and Jeff came on stage for _Sleigh Ride_, their closing number.

The six teenagers lined up along the front of the stage, linked hands, and bowed after their finale. Kurt's knees nearly buckled when the crowd began standing up. On his left, Hana dropped his hand, and he realized their friends were backing away, leaving Kurt and Blaine alone at center stage. The audience thundered its approval. Kurt's hand tightened so firmly around Blaine's it had to hurt.

"That was wonderful!" Yunjin cried, when the teenagers made their way backstage. "Now go greet your audience. Come on!"

The Korean woman ushered them around to the foyer to say farewell to the departing audience before they had time to think. She scattered them, one at each door, and they were swept up in handshakes and compliments as the audience filed outside. The open doors allowed in the cold, but it felt good against Kurt's skin, flushed from the stage lights, exertion, and embarrassment.

"You are called Kurt Hummel, yes?"

The heavy French accent caught Kurt's attention, and he looked up into a pair of wide-set honey-colored eyes in a handsome African face. The speaker was maybe seventeen, if not younger, with a pleasant smile and dressed very nicely in a black trench coat and Burberry check scarf.

"Yes. Have we met?"

"No, we have not, but we go to school together. I am Christophe Beye. I cannot sing, but I have a great appreciation of music. You have a very beautiful voice, Kurt."

"Thank you," the countertenor said, flushing deeply under the sincere compliment.

"Perhaps I could hear it more, if you would allow me to buy you a coffee sometime?" Christophe inquired.

Kurt's jaw slackened, and his eyes gravitated immediately towards Blaine standing two doors down and smiling widely as he chatted with Soren and Professor Hirsch (Gabriel, his husband, but Kurt couldn't think of him as anything but Professor Hirsch). Christophe followed his line of sight.

"Ah, I see. Blaine is a very lucky man. I hope to see you around at school in the new semester, Kurt."

Christophe ducked his head politely, almost a bow, and left Kurt with his heart pounding in his chest. As much as he liked Blaine – God, did he like Blaine – they had never crossed the line between friendship and something more. Kurt's head buzzed because _a cute boy had just asked him out _and that had never happened before.

"Are you all right? You've been gaping at the snow for five minutes."

Kurt started at the sound of Hana's voice. He hadn't realized Christophe had been among the last to leave, and he wondered if the Frenchman – or Franco-African? – had planned it that way. He shook his head to clear it and smiled down at the girl.

"I'm wonderful, actually."

"Right. Well, we're getting changed and going back to the market. Jeff said you have to keep me company so he can get your present."

Kurt agreed without complaint. He wanted to talk about the date request to his best friend, but then again, he didn't. Gushing to Blaine about how flattered another boy had made him could ruin everything. But keeping it in wasn't an option.

"Hana," Kurt said slowly. "Do you know Christophe Beye?"

Night had fallen by the time they had changed into their own clothes. A light dusting of snow drifted down from the midnight blue sky. They strolled down Parkway with their arms linked, and Hana huddled close to Kurt for body warmth. The poor girl couldn't handle the cold at all.

"Of course. He's the President of the GSA this year. Why do you ask?"

Kurt took a breath and spilled the whole story, minus admitting to his enormous crush on Blaine. Hana listened with arched eyebrows and considered for a few moments before speaking at all.

"Christophe is a very nice boy. I'm sure he has been through a lot in this life, but he is always very polite and kind to others. I am sure he would make a good boyfriend, if that's what you want him to be."

"What do you mean 'been through a lot'?"

Hana frowned deeply. "He is from Senegal, Kurt. He is Muslim."

"I thought it was Muslim women who had it bad?"

"I'm not discounting that. But, no, Kurt, I meant that in our culture, homosexuality is not just a sin, it is a crime."

Kurt felt his blood run cold, and his arm twitched away from Hana, but she held on tightly.

"Not to everyone in our culture, obviously," she amended, "and the punishments authorized by the state are terrible, as terrible as my – " She cleared her throat abruptly. "Anyway. Christophe is a very nice boy, if that is what you are asking."

"I was, yes." Kurt furrowed his brow. "Hana … Do you want to – "

"No. Nor will I ever. So don't ask again."

He nodded, and they walked in silence as they rounded the corner onto Boulevard.

"Are you going to go out with him?" Hana wondered.

"I – Well – No, I don't think so." Kurt dipped his head to hide his blush, but Hana was so much shorter than him she saw it clearly. "There's someone else I'm interested in."

"Blaine."

Kurt turned an even deeper shade of red. The small girl bounced around beside him and squealed in delight.

"I knew it! I think you two should date. You're so cute together, and your voices are perfect together. Have you told him how you feel?"

"No! I – I can't. Hana, please don't say anything!"

The girl scoffed. "Who do you think I am? Jeff? I can keep a secret, thank you very much! But I think you should tell him. Oh! Or kiss him. Just grab him and kiss him like all the leading men do in those old romantic black and white films."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "I don't think I'll be going about it that way."

"Hey, guys!" Blaine said, appearing from seemingly nowhere with Nick beside him. "What are we talking about?"

"Kissing boys," Hana replied brazenly. Kurt fairly glared at her.

"Well, your boyfriend is on his way, so it won't be much longer before you make us all uncomfortable with your PDA," Blaine joked.

"I thought those don't work here," Hana mused.

Nick laughed. "Oh, how I've missed having a non-native English speaker around since Mikhail graduated. PDA. Public display of affection."

After Jeff met up with them at the corner of Broadway and Main, they went back around to Boulevard to have dinner at one of the few restaurants open today, Bella Notte, before going to watch a small cast production of _A Christmas Carol_ at The Wonderland.

They filed into the mezzanine seats, scooting past a sea of knees and apologizing for stepping on toes as they did. They were a little late and couldn't find six seats together. Kurt and Blaine were two rows in front of their friends.

"You were so amazing today, Kurt," Blaine said. "I couldn't think of a better duet partner."

Kurt did a double take, fully aware that the look on his face was nothing short of stunned and trying very hard to hide it. Blaine furrowed his brow.

"Thank you," Kurt said lamely.

"What was that look?"

"Nothing. Someone once hurt me by saying those exact same words. But now, you've …" He shook his head a little and smiled. "You're also my favorite duet partner."

The last thing Hana saw before the lights went down was Kurt and Blaine leaning towards each other, heads ducked and eyes averted, with matching expressions of adoration all over their faces. Dagny elbowed her hard in the ribs because she was still grinning stupidly when Marley's ghost appeared.


	16. Interlude: Hudson Hummels

**INTERLUDE**

Burt darted in from the cold and stamped his feet on the rug to shake off the compact snow before toeing off his work boots. He stopped abruptly when he stepped into the living room. A Christmas tree blinked colorfully in the corner of the previously barren room. Burt glared at it, as if it offended him, because, this year, it did.

The sounds of cabinets closing and voices drew him into the kitchen. He stood in the doorway watching Carole pull a tray with steaming pies out of the oven. Finn sat at the table dusting fine sprinkles over freshly iced sugar cookies. He noticed Burt first, and the little plastic jar of sprinkles stilled in his hand.

"Hey, Burt."

Carole looked up from moving the pies onto cooling racks. She took in Burt's stormy expression, and then removed the oven mitts with deliberate calm.

"Finn, why don't you go over Mr. Schuester's a little early?"

Burt waited until the front door closed before pushing off from the wall and coming fully into the kitchen. He motioned around to the pies, cookies, and a pyramid of cream of mushroom soup cans on the countertop.

"What's going on here?"

"We're getting ready for Christmas dinner."

Burt's eyes surreptitiously darted to the wall calendar mounted beside the refrigerator. It was Friday, Christmas Eve. He adjusted his baseball cap on his head while nodding at the floor.

"We're not having Christmas dinner," he stated flatly.

"Of course we are," came Carole's steady voice.

"You can't do this," Burt said, looking up sharply and gesturing around again. "You can't come into my house and put up a Christmas tree and make desserts that I'm not supposed to have anyway for a holiday meal that I'm not having."

"Yet here I am."

He exhaled sharply and ran two fingers over the bridge of his nose. "Carole, I can't do this. I can't live my life like nothing has changed. Because everything has changed. My son vanished, and the FBI thinks he's buried in a field somewhere never to be found. And I can't celebrate Christmas or watch football games or give you the ring rolling around in my sock drawer because my son is gone."

Carole sucked in a breath, and Burt cringed because he hadn't meant to say that one part, but he had and couldn't take it back now.

"You and Kurt are so much alike."

Burt couldn't suppress a dry laugh. "Oh, yeah? I didn't realize Mellencamp and _Wicked_ were similar."

"Kurt dropped everything when you were in the hospital. It took all my powers of persuasion to even get him to leave your bedside to go to school. It was like he thought that if he spent every waking moment beside you that it would speed your recovery. But it didn't, it couldn't. Your body had gone through a major trauma, and it needed to shut down and repair itself. Staying at your side every second of every day, it would have only made that week more difficult for Kurt. Going to school, doing something normal, it was good for him."

"When Finn was little, did you ever lose him in the grocery store for a few minutes? You know that feeling you got, when you realized he was gone and your stomach dropped and you felt cold all over, like the whole world was closing in on you? That's what I feel like every second of every day. And it's not going away, because my son isn't in the next aisle or hiding behind the fruit stands. He's been gone seven weeks and no one has a freaking clue about what happened to him. So, no. Doing something normal, it's not gonna take my mind off anything, because I don't know what happened to my son."

Carole considered the oven mitts on the countertop for a pregnant moment. Burt almost expected her to leave, to wash her hands of the wreck of a man he'd become.

"Burt Hummel, we are having Christmas dinner tomorrow. You're going to Finn's conference championship game in January like you promised him. And when you're ready, you're going to give me that ring in your sock drawer."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she rode over him.

"You're going to do all of those things because one day Kurt will come home, but if you keep up worrying obsessively with no relief, you won't be alive when that day comes, and the first thing your son will hear when he's safe and home is that he's an orphan. So, yes, Burt, we're having Christmas dinner and we're going to football games and we're getting engaged, because we are going to give Kurt a family to come home to."

Burt squeezed his eyes shut against the moisture rolling down his cheeks. He couldn't imagine anything more painful than sitting down to Christmas dinner tomorrow with an empty chair around their small table. But he would do it. For Kurt.


	17. Eleven

**ELEVEN**

The apartments were strangely quiet on Christmas morning. As he padded down the hall to the stairwell, Blaine caught snippets of laughter, radios, and clanging pots and pans, but the two foot blanket of snow outside seemed to muffle all the normal sounds of the world. The morning felt calm and joyful, exactly as Christmas morning should always feel.

Blaine searched for Kurt. Although his door was closed, the other boy always rose early, and the residual steam in the bathroom said that he'd already gotten ready for the day. Blaine was grateful he'd have someone else with him on that front. His friends teased him relentlessly for not wearing his pajamas when he opened presents, but he much preferred any pictures of himself to show a young man in a warm sweater, not flannel pajamas.

He supposed the kitchen was the prime place to look. The families living in the single units on other floors preferred to spend time together alone on Christmas before coming down for the massive Christmas dinner Ciara arranged every year. That meant the students, who didn't have kitchenettes in their rooms, were left to find their own breakfast. Kurt had volunteered because he enjoyed cooking and missed it.

The lights were off in the dining room, and the mismatched tables cast odd intersecting shadows across the carpet in the purple light of dawn seeping in through the windows. A soft voice from the radio, Rosemary Clooney's, filtered through the kitchen door. Blaine poked his head around the swinging door.

The kitchen was large, more like a school's home economics classroom than a house's. Wide white countertops ringed the rectangular room with gaps for sinks, ranges, ovens, fryers, and microwaves. Tall shelves displayed all the tableware, and pots and pans hung from overhead hooks. There was a large center island for preparing food and twin doors at the rear of the room: a walk-in freezer and pantry.

"Kurt?" he called.

There was a snuffling sound, and the clanking of a cast iron pan hitting the cold tiled floor. Blaine came around the center island to find Kurt scrambling up off the ground. He had his back turned to Blaine and reached up with the hand clutching the pan to rub at his face with his forearm.

"Oh, hi, Blaine. I didn't realize you were helping with breakfast."

There was no mistaking the raspy, stuffy quality in Kurt's voice. It broke Blaine's heart to hear it and to imagine Kurt alone, curled up on the kitchen floor, crying because he was separated from his family on Christmas.

"I'm making crepes, because that's not something Ciara ever makes, and it's one of my specialties. I thought we could have cinnamon and whipped cream topping and strawberry glaze, because I know Dagny doesn't like sugary fruit. But I don't know if everyone likes strawberries."

Kurt rambled and fussed, pointedly turning away every time Blaine tried to come around and look into his obviously red-rimmed eyes. At last, when he couldn't take the avoidance anymore, Blaine gently took Kurt's right wrist and tried to turn him around. The other boy's hand stilled and clutched at the whisk in the batter. He kept his body flush against the counter, but turned his head ever so slightly in Blaine's direction.

"Please talk to me, Kurt. We've always talked to each other."

The countertenor sighed deeply. "I'm just … I can't keep coming to you with all my problems, especially when they're redundant. I just need to get over it and stop bothering you about it."

The other boy turned away again, and judging from the rigidity in his shoulders, had started crying again.

"You're not bothering me. I don't think losing your family is something you can just get over. Kurt, we agreed that we're friends. Best friends. Friends come to each other their problems. I'm here to listen whenever you need me."

Blaine tugged again on Kurt's arm, and this time he didn't let the other boy wriggle out of his grasp. His heart broke again when he saw the tear tracks on Kurt's cheeks. He pulled the boy into a hug, and Kurt embraced him eagerly. He buried his face in Blaine's shoulder and let out a choked sob while Blaine stroked his back.

They stayed that way for only a couple minutes. Kurt stood up and retrieved a napkin from the countertop to dry his eyes with and blow his nose.

"Thank you, Blaine. I do miss my dad, especially today, but I'm not going to spoil anyone else's Christmas with my tears. I have crepes to make, and then fabulous presents to hand out to our friends."

Blaine smiled affectionately while Kurt threw away the napkin, washed his hands again, and picked up the whisk. He'd never known anyone as selfless at Kurt. The other boy caught him staring and lifted an eyebrow.

"Well? Are you going to stand there grinning all day or help me make breakfast?"

Blaine rushed around the kitchen for the next quarter hour doing everything Kurt directed: get flatware and silverware, take the strawberry glaze from the freezer, put cinnamon in a shaker, go back to the freezer for whipped cream, juice the oranges and not too much pulp. By the time the breakfast tray was assembled, Blaine was sweating a little and breathing hard.

"Wow," Kurt laughed. "I've never had a personal slave before. It's kind of nice."

"Oh. Ha ha. Now are you going to make those crepes or leave a bunch of teenagers to starve?"

Kurt pointed down at the pan heating up on the stove, as if that proved something. Blaine had never made crepes before and didn't have the faintest idea how an empty pan on a heated electric burner had anything to do with it.

"You want to help with this part too?" Kurt asked.

Blaine shrugged because he had no objection to it and found himself being covered in a flowery apron that Ciara normally wore when she was cooking. Kurt chuckled under his breath while he tied Blaine into the protective clothing, so he supposed it was worth it.

"I made the batter last night and let it sit, so all the bubbles should be out and the crepes won't tear apart while we're cooking them," Kurt explained. "We just add a little butter to the pan …. Okay, now when I put the batter in, swirl it around a little."

Blaine took hold of the pan's handle and watched as Kurt added a dollop of the batter into the pan. Blaine swished it around so enthusiastically batter flew over the side of the pan and landed with a splat on the next, cold burner.

"Whoa! Okay, calm down there, cowboy." Blaine did a double take and mouthed 'cowboy?' Kurt rolled his eyes. "Let's try this again."

Kurt dumped the partially cooked batter into the trashcan and buttered the pan again. He stepped closer to Blaine to show him how it was done. Blaine's breathing came heavier when Kurt's hand covered his on the handle. He could almost feel Kurt's chest against his back, and the ghost of his breath on his neck sent shivers up his spine.

"Like this."

Kurt moved the pan gently in small circles while he reached around Blaine's other side to put more batter into the pan. Blaine's eyes watched the cooking crepe, but his mind was anywhere but on food.

"It only takes about thirty seconds to cook one side, so we flip it." Kurt handed Blaine the turner and guided that hand too. "And cook the other side for about fifteen seconds. Okay, now we put the crepe on the cooling rack. See? Easy."

Kurt added another bit of the batter into the pan and helped Blaine spread it properly. Their difference in height wasn't so great that Kurt could see clearly over Blaine's shoulder, so he moved a little closer to peer down at the pan. Blaine sucked in a breath when their bodies pressed together. He could feel Kurt's rapid heartbeat between his shoulder blades, and felt his palms go slick with nervousness. He turned to peer at Kurt and found the other boy gazing at him. Without really meaning to, Blaine's eyes flicked to Kurt's full, pink mouth. His lips parted and he tilted his head. He _swore_ Kurt leaned.

But then he was gone.

Blaine looked around, disappointed and confused and his head buzzing pleasantly. Kurt was several feet away fiddling with the spoon in the crepe batter and looking at the doorway, where Hana leaned against the jamb. Blaine fairly glared at the girl.

"The boys are hungry," she stated. "They threatened to start eating the tinsel if breakfast didn't arrive soon."

"It'll just be a few more minutes," Kurt said lightly. "I can take over, Blaine, if you'd take the rest of this up to the common room? I'll be right up."

Blaine left reluctantly. He felt Hana gazing down at him as they juggled two trays full of breakfast on their way up the stairs. The girl seemed to glide up the stairs without even jostling the surface of the orange juice.

"Sorry if I cockblocked you."

That tripped Blaine up, almost literally. Hana's hand shot out to steady the tottering whipped cream canister while he regained his footing on the stairs.

"Hana, do you even know what that means?"

She considered, and then shook her head. "No. Dagny just told me not to do it. A cock is a chicken, right?"

Blaine's face flooded with embarrassment. He had no intention of explaining English slang to Hana. He'd let Jeff do that when the time came, so he hedged.

"Sort of. Can you get the door?"

The common room had woken up since Blaine went in search of Kurt. Nick and Jeff had roused themselves from a dead sleep at last. The Christmas lights had been plugged in, and the radio turned on. Dagny was sorting the presents into piles, all save the one Blaine had stashed in her apartment upstairs.

"Should I get it?" she asked immediately.

"Not yet. I'll grab it when we're opening presents," Blaine said.

Amara and Ebele joined them ten minutes later looking a little forlorn. Blaine didn't know their story, just that siblings getting lost together was rare. They were perfectly pleasant to be around, but Blaine had the sense that they were introverted souls and sad much of the time except when playing their violins.

Kurt came in a short while later with a plate full of crepes and Ciara and Cillian. As the legal guardians of all the teenagers in The Wonderland Company, even if they were mostly hands off, the Irish couple always joined them for Christmas breakfast and exchanging presents.

They all sat around the crowded common room devouring breakfast and complimenting Kurt on his excellent cooking. Naturally, Ciara wanted Kurt in the kitchen when she started making Christmas dinner with some of the better cooks in a few hours. Blaine was glad for that. The pandemonium of cooking for close to fifty people would keep Kurt's mind off other things.

After the empty breakfast dishes were piled up by the door, Dagny started passing out presents. Blaine slipped out to get the final gift and returned without anyone noticing he'd been gone. He had to hide the present in his room, though, and shut the door because all of the hubbub in the common room wasn't an ideal place for it.

"Three … two … one!" Cillian shouted.

The teenagers and Cillian tore into their gifts, which were wrapped mainly in lost newspaper. Blaine caught a flash of reluctance on Kurt's face before he tore animal-like into the paper just like his friends. There were hugs and thanks yous and you're welcomes all around even as bits of newspaper flew into the air.

Blaine had expected clothes from Kurt. Fashion was what Kurt cared about, and how he showed his individuality. Shopping for clothes was a hobby of his. When Blaine tore open the paper on Kurt's gift, he didn't find clothes, however.

Kurt had given him a football game.

There was a regulation football and flags in black and purple inside the box. A set of miniature cones – BeDazzled funnels, Blaine realized – sat at the bottom of the box along with a note in Kurt's handwriting:

_Merry Christmas, Blaine. You should start breaking the stereotype again now that you have a worthy team._

_From,_  
><em>Kurt<em>

"So is that all then?" Ciara asked, tossing around some newspaper to see if any gifts lurked beneath their trash.

Blaine looked up from the box of football gear at Kurt. The other boy wore a small frown on his lips, and Blaine wondered if that was because he thought Blaine hadn't gotten him a gift. He set down the box containing Kurt's gift and hugged his friend.

"Thank you, Kurt. That's the best Christmas present I've ever gotten. I hope my gift to you can live up to it. Close your eyes."

Kurt felt ridiculous sitting in his own common room with his eyes closed while all of his friends waited to see if he liked whatever Blaine had gotten him. Jeff poked him harshly when he tried to peak, though, so he kept his eyes shut until Blaine returned and settled onto the couch next to him again.

"Okay. You can open your eyes."

When Kurt first saw the present sitting on the coffee table in front of his knees, he only blinked at it, not understanding. Then it tweeted, and his whole face lit up. With an eager smile, he lifted off the Burberry check cover to reveal the small canary chirping inside its cage. Kurt bent double to peer inside the cage. The little yellow bird hopped from one perch to another, cocked his head to the side, and chirped at Kurt. He rocked back on the couch and clapped his hands.

"You got me a pet!" he said, beaming at Blaine.

"I found him last week. I was on my way to the greenhouse, and there he was, almost exactly in the same spot where I first met you. It probably sounds stupid, but I just knew you were meant to have him."

"What's his name?" Kurt wondered. "And where did you manage to find a Burberry-esque canary cage cover?"

Blaine laughed lightly. "I had some help with the peripherals. But I don't know what his name is. I thought I'd let you decide that."

Kurt considered. "I don't know why, but … I think his name is Pavarotti."

Pavarotti chirped in his cage by the radiator the rest of the day while Kurt went downstairs to help with Christmas dinner.

**o o o**

While the others busied themselves with helping in the kitchen or cleaning up the wrapping paper or just spending time together, Jeff bundled up in his winter coat and boots and trudged through the two feet of snow on the walkways. It had stopped snowing overnight, but a strong westerly wind sent flakes skittering over the hardened surface of the snow and formed drifts at building corners.

He turned onto Main and weaved his way through familiar side streets to the Memorial Chapel. Over the years, the old Catholic cathedral had been expanded and redesigned until it was such an amalgam of cultural influences it was difficult to tell if the colonnades looked more like the Lal Qila or Alhambra or St. Basil's.

Jeff eased open the heavy oak doors and slipped inside. He stamped the snow off his boots and picked his way through the mainly empty corridors. The doors to the church stood open. Father Ferguson and Reverend Hollis welcomed their joint congregations. Some passed straight through to the wooden pews in the nave; others, like Jeff, paused to dip their fingers in the stoup and make the sign of the cross.

Jeff didn't pray because he didn't really believe there was anyone receiving his words. He hadn't believed that since his days as an altar boy, and he'd never gone through first communion anyway. He came to mass on Christmas day because he knew that back home, his family was also in church today, and in some small way, he could be with them.

Reverend Hollis stepped up to the pulpit first to welcome everyone to the Christian service, and Father Ferguson followed by celebrating the way the Catholic and Protestant churches came together on Christmas day. A body settling into the pew beside Jeff distracted him, and he did a double take when he saw his girlfriend shrugging off her coat.

"Hana," Jeff whispered, a little panicked. "This is a _Christian_ service."

"Neither of us are here for the service. You're here because your parents took you to mass once a year, and I'm here because you shouldn't have to be alone when you remember them. Don't worry about my spirituality; I have a merciful God who will understand my being here is an act of love. It's your soul I worry about since you have no faith."

Jeff frowned deeply and pretended to listen to the liturgy. "If you'd had siblings like mine and were ripped away from them, you would have trouble believing in God too."

The girl snorted. "Faith isn't supposed to be easy. Don't we all know that better than anyone on the other side? Our lives every day are nothing but an act of faith – faith that we're not hallucinating or dead or insane and that our existence means something."

The congregation stood to sing a hymn led by the priest and pastor. For three minutes, Jeff sang and Hana listened. She'd never heard this particular hymn before, and she found the melody very soothing.

"I just miss them so much," Jeff admitted. "I wish more than anything I had a way to get back to them. It's been almost three years. Sometimes I lay awake all night imagining what they're doing and how they've grown as people. I worry about them too."

"Have you talked to Cillian about it?"

Jeff shook his head, and Hana frowned deeply. There was nothing she could do to help her boyfriend or make him happier, she knew that. Only he could let go of his past. But she could be there for him, to listen and to comfort when he needed it. She looped her arm in his when they sat down and held herself close throughout the service.

**o o o**

Kurt could hardly believe how much work went into preparing Christmas dinner for fifty. His momentary thrill from his morning of ordering Blaine around the kitchen vanished entirely an hour into the preparation when he realized he had become Ciara's errand boy. Even after he realized it, he couldn't do anything to change it. The Irishwoman had a stunning presence. The entire kitchen revolved around her, and Kurt even saw Cillian limping around frantically to get her a pinch of salt when she called for it.

It was close to seven o'clock before the ham came out of the oven. The warm succulent/sweet scent and popping of the pineapple glaze brought eager exclamations from the company already assembled at the tables in the dining room.

"All right. We're ready to eat," Ciara announced at last.

The many cooks in the kitchen breathed a sigh of relief and tossed their aprons into the basket in the corner. Kurt joined his friends at their usual table. He didn't know who had set the table or when they'd gotten the dishes from the kitchen, but they had created a very festive table with a pine cone centerpiece and cinnamon apple scented candles.

"I should go check on – "

"Pavarotti is doing just fine," Blaine said, grinning at Kurt. "I made sure he had water and seeds before coming downstairs. He's been singing all afternoon."

Christmas dinner with The Wonderland Company was like something out of a slightly cheesy Christmas movie. Kurt could almost imagine standing outside the front dining room windows watching the smiles and laughter as tureens and platters made their way around the tables. They even had the classical Christmas soundtrack with the radio playing softly in the corner.

"You're melancholy again."

Kurt started at Blaine's voice in his ear. He tried to hitch a smile onto his lips, but he let it slide off just as quickly. He had promised Blaine this morning they could always come to each other.

"I have faith Carole won't let him wallow in misery today. I'd rather not talk about it anymore, Blaine. It's not that I want to shut you out. I just … can't anymore today. Can you understand that?"

"Of course. Let's talk about something else. Christmas movie tonight? Personally, I vote for _Miracle on 34__th__ Street_."

"A fine movie," Kurt conceded, "but I'm going to have to insist on _It's A Wonderful Life_."

"Oh, are you? A little predictable, I must say."

"And a Christmas movie about Santa Claus isn't?" Kurt teased.

"That's not what the movie's about and you know it. But how about this? I'll give you one chance to convince me _It's A Wonderful Life_ is better than _Miracle on 34__th__ Street_. If you can do that, I'll vote with you, thus giving you the swing vote you need to watch that movie tonight."

Kurt plucked a roll from the basket on its way around the table and considered while buttering it.

"If you're expecting me to rely on Jimmy Stewart to make my argument for me, you've got another coming."

Blaine held up his palms to signal he intended no such thing.

"There's something wonderful – pardon the redundancy – about a film with the message that one person can have such a profound impact, not just on his own life, but on so many other people's too. Without George, his entire town turned into just another worthless spot on the map. It's a beautiful message that George gave up his dream so that everyone else in Bedford Falls could live theirs.

"There aren't a lot of people willing to be George Bailey. He's not some fantastical person like Santa Claus. He's just a man who changes hundreds – maybe thousands – of lives by making the right choices. That he has to struggle to reach that point where he's willing to give up everything for others, that only makes him more of a hero."

Kurt flushed when he realized how passionate he'd become about a movie, but Blaine was listening raptly. He had forgotten about his plate full of food and stared at Kurt with his chin propped on his hand.

Christmas ended for most of The Wonderland Company with singing carols around the upright piano. For the teenagers, it continued for another two hours curled up under blankets in the boys' common room watching _It's A Wonderful Life_.


	18. Twelve

**TWELVE**

The rest of winter break passed relatively quietly. The Wonderland Company did not perform again, except for at the New Year's Eve party in the town square. After the almost kiss in the kitchen on Christmas, Kurt wondered if there would be one on New Year's Eve, but Blaine had only hugged him and said, "Happy New Year!"

They hadn't talked about the almost kiss since it almost happened, and Kurt started to wonder if he'd imagined it completely. Everything went back to normal between him and Blaine, meaning slightly flirty and vaguely affectionate.

School was back in session too soon, and Kurt returned to all of his same courses with new classmates. He also returned to the same bullies, who had taken winter break to think up new names to shout at Kurt and Blaine as they walked down the hallways. After a particularly vile comment from Parrish, Kurt opened his mouth to shout back, but Blaine dragged him around a corner.

"What's wrong with you?" Kurt snapped.

"I could ask you the same thing. You're making it worse by letting them know it's getting to you," Blaine replied with just as much heat.

"No, I'm standing up to them. Have you ever even tried that?"

Kurt watched the storm rolling over Blaine's face. It was all dark shadows and rage on the surface, but he saw pain and disbelief in his shifting expression too.

"Have I –? Kurt, you still don't understand what these guys are like. A shove in the courtyard is not the worst they'll do! I spent a week in the hospital after they were done with me. I'm trying to keep that from happening to you too."

The countertenor turned away for a moment to collect himself.

"I appreciate that, Blaine. I really do. But I'm not the sort of person who can just stand back and listen to the hate. I have to respond."

"You don't respond, Kurt. You react without thinking." He sighed deeply. "I hope it won't take three cracked ribs and forty-seven stitches for you to learn the difference."

Kurt's jaw worked silently. Blaine sighed again and spun on his heel so he could lean against the wall next to Kurt. He stared at the floor and fiddled with his glasses rather than look at Kurt.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Kurt said quietly. "It can't be easy going to school with those guys after all that. Did they at least get punished?"

"Sure. They were suspended for fighting, but so was I." Blaine grinned a little at Kurt's outraged cry. "Kurt, I didn't just let them beat the crap out of me, despite what you might think. I broke Kirkpatrick's nose … which is when they wrestled me to the ground and kicked me so hard they cracked my ribs, so I don't know if that was a smart move or not.

"The point is, though, Kurt, that this is part of our world. The hate the prejudice, it's just ignorance. Fists and insults won't change anything. We can educate guys like Parrish, but reacting in anger will only make it worse for everyone."

"Very wise," Kurt teased lightly. "Sounds like someone is quoting Cillian."

"Soren, actually."

On their third day back, the GSA met for the first time that semester after school. Kurt had always intended to join, but with adjusting to Here and the performing schedule in December, he hadn't made it to any meetings last semester.

The GSA met in Professor Hirsch's classroom, whom Kurt knew from his Linguistics class. Gabriel Hirsh was a short man with thinning jet black hair, olive skin, and an affinity for tweed. Soren towered over his husband, and they could hardly have been more opposite in appearance, but they complimented one another naturally. Kurt envied the eyes they still made at each other after all these years together.

Aside from the faculty sponsors and the teenage performers, the GSA was a shy new arrival named Akira Soseki who spoke broken English, Camille Guerin – the girl who had so brazenly asked Kurt if he was dating Blaine – and Christophe. Camille and Christophe spoke rapid French, which Kurt understood perfectly well, as they walked in together and started the meeting.

The club sat around on the tables, chairs, and desk while they snacked on the baklava Hana had brought. It wasn't as sweet or sticky as the variety Kurt was used to, but he liked it more because of that. Nick took minutes. Since it was the first meeting of the semester, it was a brainstorming session.

As much as Kurt would enjoy movie night and everything else that was suggested, he felt the club was missing its true purpose. He said nothing in the meeting, because he was the new kid still and didn't want to end up sounding like know-it-all Rachel. A more appropriate opportunity to voice his opinion presented itself after the meeting.

"I am very happy to see you again, Kurt. I am sorry we have no classes together."

Kurt wasn't sure if Christophe's formal speech was the result of politeness or learning English as a teenager, but he liked the other boy's accompanying smile and thick accent either way. It put him at ease and drew him a little closer.

"You too, Christophe. But we have GSA, so we'll get to see each other at all these wonderful events we've planned."

"You sound disapproving."

"No, I just think a GSA should be more than a social club." Kurt flushed and shook his head at his own boldness. "I'm sorry. Don't mind me. I've never even been part of a group like this. I should just keep my mouth shut."

"Please do not do that. It would be a shame to hear even less of your voice."

The countertenor's jaw worked for a moment. "Well, okay. I think a GSA can be an activist group. Not just a place where we can feel safe, but a group that can educate our less open-minded classmates and make our school a safer place for everyone."

"And how do you propose we do this?"

Christophe didn't ask the question with derision or hesitance. He sounded genuinely interested, and that sparked Kurt's passion. He found himself stepping a little closer and gesturing a little more with his hands.

"There are so many things we could do: workshops, poster campaigns, a guest lecture series. I can see that we're a small club, but that doesn't mean we can't do great things. My old glee club – " Kurt's voice hitched, but he pushed through the rush of emotion " – only had twelve members, most of whom hated each other, but we made it to Regionals our first year as a show choir, and I know we – _they_ – are going all the way to Nationals this year."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, Kurt. I think we should discuss your thoughts at the next club meeting. Will you present these ideas to the group?"

Kurt beamed at the club president, who never lost his own beatific smile. Christophe cleared his throat lightly and nodded to the back of the room where Blaine hovered by the door as Soren and Professor Hirsch left.

"I will put it on the agenda. I would like to talk to you about it more, but I think your boyfriend is ready to go."

Kurt blushed to his ears and his jaw worked silently for a few seconds as he glanced between Blaine and Christophe. He debated the right words, but nothing would make this less awkward.

"Blaine … isn't my boyfriend."

Christophe frowned for the first time. It didn't suit his handsome face at all. It cast dark shadows over his expressive eyes and put a pit in Kurt's stomach. He felt a pressing need to explain, to make the other boy smile again.

"Blaine is my best friend, and he's been there literally since the first moment I got here, and we live together and work together and …. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that I don't really know what's going on there," Kurt admitted.

"I think I see clearer now." Something like a smile, but not quite, came back to Christophe's lips. "I do not want to come into the middle of anything. If you ever figure out what is going on, and it is not what you obviously want, then you should know that my offer stands."

Kurt accepted the polite nod that seemed to be Christophe's signature parting gesture while his brain spun out of control. He was obvious? Blaine certainly didn't act like Kurt was being obvious. Unless he was pretending to ignore it because he didn't want the same thing. But the glee girls always said boys were generally oblivious. Were gay boys equally oblivious as straight boys?

Thinking about this too much was going to make his head hurt. Kurt anticipated many headaches in the coming days, because these weren't thoughts he could just turn off.

"Kurt?"

He started when he realized he and Blaine were the only ones left in the room. He hitched a smile onto his lips while he pulled on his coat, hat, and gloves.

A deep cold had settled over the town two days ago. The wind was deadly calm, and it rarely snowed more than a handful of pitiful, grainy flakes, but the freeze penetrated deep into the bones. Even stepping outside sent gooseflesh rising on the skin and shivers up the spine. Bundled up as they were, Kurt and Blaine huddled down into their protective winter clothes as they trudged back to their suite.

"So you're friends with Christophe?" Blaine asked, all false nonchalance.

"I suppose. I've only talked to him twice, but I think we could be friends."

"Huh."

Kurt's eyes darted sidelong, and he frowned beneath his hat, though the faux fur hid the movement of his eyebrows.

"Am I not allowed to be friends with other people?"

"What? Of course you are. I just … _Christophe_."

Kurt made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. "What's wrong with him? He's always been perfectly polite and complimentary to me."

Now it was Blaine's turn to make the same noise in his throat.

Kurt wanted to press the issue, but Hana came running at them down Broadway, waving her marshmallow arms at Kurt. He wanted to demand to know why she still wore that ridiculous coat when he'd bought her a wonderful, fashionable alternative for Christmas, but she collapsed against him and almost fell into the snow when her many layers bounced off of his body. He steadied her, and she shivered close to his body.

"You were almost inside. Why did you come back?" Kurt asked, wrapping an arm around the small girl.

"Nick and Jeff were being asks to me, and Dagny was laughing about it."

"Asses," Blaine corrected.

"Yes, that. But they wouldn't tell me why their assness was funny. What is a Stay-Puff Monster?"

Blaine managed to pass off his laughter as a severe cough; Kurt had to bite the inside of his cheek. Neither boy felt that a narrative answer was adequate. They agreed Hana needed to be introduced to the cultural phenomenon that was _Ghostbusters_ first hand.

They weren't very far from the library, so Kurt altered their course, much to Hana's objection. She only wanted to go back to her room and lay on top of the radiator – something she did with alarming frequency.

Kurt had only been in the library a couple of times, and his awe only increased with each visit. Every book, film, and magazine ever to show up in Here was housed in the library. The building was easily twice the size of the warehouse with high shelves and narrow walkways on all six floors. At the entrance, a librarian sat behind a desk working through a stack of new arrivals, and across from the desk was an enormous card catalog – no computer in Here was fast enough to automate the library – that took up half a wall.

"Has Ciara sent you for copies of the new sheet music?" Anita, the librarian, asked with a smile.

Kurt liked that she didn't even feign speaking in a whisper. There was nothing still or stuffy about the library, despite the dust motes floating through the air. The library wasn't just a library; it was a record store, movie rental store, and newsstand too.

"No, but we can take it to her," Hana offered.

While Hana and Blaine chatted with Anita about the newest songbook to arrive, Kurt took the stairs to the sixth floor where all the music and movies were shelved. As they were all arranged alphabetically, it wasn't too difficult to find Ghostbusters, but given the size of the library he was gone for a good fifteen minutes.

"Another Andrew Lloyd Webber songbook," Blaine grumbled.

"I like _Phantom_!"

Blaine shook his head sadly at Hana as they retreated from the desk so Anita could get back to the unenviable task of typing up catalog cards. Predictably, Hana draped herself over the heating vents while Blaine preferred to sit on the soft seating just inside the door.

"That is terrible for you, Hana. It'll dry out your hair and skin."

"Forgive me for growing up in a desert and not Mooseland."

The boy laughed despite himself. Just to ruffle her feathers, he peeled off his winter coat and pretended not to feel the cold seeping in through the glass doors.

"There aren't _that_ many moose in Canada."

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes until Hana climbed on top of the radiator and stretched out on her stomach with her chin propped up on her hands.

"So how are things with Kurt?"

"Fine?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "I mean. How are _things_ with Kurt?"

"Again … Fine?"

"You are infuriating, Blaine! What I'm asking you is if you're more than friends."

The boy frowned deeply and picked at a loose thread on his pants. Hana slapped at his hand, and he left the thread for later when he had a pair of scissors.

"We can't be more than friends. You know that Hana. We all have _that_ moment, and Kurt hasn't yet. It would be wrong to pursue anything until then."

"But you're not denying you have more-than-friends feelings towards him!"

Blaine's eyes darted up quickly, and he made to object, but Hana already had him. He kind of hated that it was impossible to keep a secret from her. There was something so innately trustworthy about her she drew out everyone's secrets without even meaning to. _That_ was infuriating.

"That's very noble and all, but have you talked to Kurt about it?"

"What? No!"

He jumped up from his seat and paced away from Hana's incredulous disapproval. He tried to pretend he couldn't feel her gaze on his back. Kurt's return saved him from having to deal with any more of Hana's questions. The other boy handed over his borrower's card, and Anita checked out _Ghostbusters_ to him with a sly smile as her eyes darted towards Hana in her marshmallow coat.

After dinner, the teenagers gathered in the boys' room like they did every Thursday. Today, Dagny brought in graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows which they roasted over candle flames while they watched the movie.


	19. Thirteen

**THIRTEEN**

Although performances had paused in the post-Christmas lull, The Wonderland Company did not stop working. A schedule arrived through the mail slot one day in January in Ciara's small, neat handwriting. The younger members of the company regularly had vocal, acting, and dance lessons. Kurt was worried that he wouldn't be able to handle the workload on top of his college-level courses and his newfound role in the GSA, but according to Nick this wasn't the worst of it.

"Just wait until we start rehearsing again too."

The throw away comment sounded ominous to Kurt, who had never had to deal with more than high school homework and glee club. But Nick was right, as it turned out. The second week of January, Ciara posted a notice for all actors interested in auditioning for _Cat On A Hot Tin Roof_.

"Don't even try for it," Dagny commented, as they passed the notice in the foyer. She took Kurt's arm and steered him into the dining room. "You haven't even been to a single acting lesson yet."

"That doesn't mean I shouldn't audition," Kurt argued.

"By all means, Kurt. Audition. Rejection is good for the artist's soul. It gives us that drive we need to work desperately for other people's approval," she deadpanned.

Seeing the irritation flashing over Kurt's face, she stopped him just before they queued up for breakfast.

"I know this seems like community theater to you. There were probably, what, five times as many people living in your cow town in Ohio?" He nodded. "I guess our off season performances kind of are community theater. But what you don't get yet – because you haven't been here for the season – is that we're the glitterati in this world. Our big productions are recorded and filmed. Those radio towers outside town aren't there for decoration. People all over this world listen to us and watch us. Well, a few towns watch us. Not everyone has television signals yet.

"I'm the Polina Semionova of Here. Cillian is Ian McKellen. Andreas is Pavarotti – the real one, I mean, not your bird. Any cast recording you're part of will be burned onto a disc and put in our library and streamed to towns with fast enough Internet connections and stored in their libraries. People everywhere will know your name and recognize your voice and your face."

"Wait," Kurt said. "You're saying we have a celebrity culture here?"

Dagny flashed him a smile. "Didn't expect that, did you?"

"No. I mean, Blaine told me there were other towns like this one, but I just assumed they were just voices over a radio only talking when something really important happened. I haven't seen anything like a telephone around, so I just assumed …."

"The equipment is kind of rare. Nick can tell you more about the technology. What I know is that we have everything we need in The Wonderland to broadcast our performances – radio and film – and receive from other towns."

"So our performances, they kind of are like the real Broadway?"

"Granted, there are less people here than on the other side. But I think it's a pretty small portion of that population that actually follows entertainment other than blockbusters and television shows."

"Unfortunately true. So how many people are there on this side? I mean, I know it changes all the time, but …"

The dancer shrugged. "Hmm. Maybe … a couple million?"

Kurt's jaw dropped. He'd never thought that was an actual reaction until now. Dagny laughed at his stunned expression and ticked off on her fingers as she spoke.

"So you have all the people who got lost, like you and me. We generally live about seventy or so years naturally. Then you have all the people, like Nick, who were born here. They live more like a hundred years."

"Let me guess … because there are no toxic fossil fuel chemicals in the air?"

"That's what Nick says. Plus organic food and more exercise. Ciara says it's magic. Anyway. Between population growth and life expectancy, we have quite the audience. And there are I don't even know how many other towns out there. Fifty-seven, I think? Most bigger than ours, but some smaller."

"Of course," Kurt grumbled. "There's a New York out there somewhere, and I end up in Lima."

"Be glad you did. You think only having five outfits and a couple blues a month to get more is bad? Think about what rationing would be like in a city twice this size."

Kurt's sardonic smile slipped.

"But, anyway. I'm saying, Kurt, that you were accepted into The Wonderland Company because you have _potential_. You were going to go to college to study musical theater, right? Well, that education starts now."

Over the next few weeks, Kurt threw himself into his lessons.

He appreciated Dagny's frankness and took her words to heart. Kurt wanted to be a star. But he'd never intended to show up in New York and march onto the stage at the Gershwin Theater and become a leading man immediately. He'd had his sights set on Julliard, to train as an actor, and then become a star.

But he'd been thrown into a whole new situation. Suddenly, he wasn't competing for a place at Julliard. He'd already been accepted into the only musical theater program in Here without even knowing it. Now, he was competing for roles against trained, seasoned actors. He felt oddly at peace not auditioning for _Cat On A Hot Tin Roof_ when he thought of it that way.

"So what are we going to do?" Jeff asked during dinner one night. "I'd say _The Glass Menagerie_, but that's only for four actors. Unless one of us wants to play the role of a portrait."

"The logistics are made even harder by having four guys and one girl," Nick added.

Over breakfast after that talk with Dagny, their friends had gone into more detail about their training. Sometimes they got supporting roles in the big productions if a large cast was needed. Mainly, though, they did their own shows. They were critiqued by the adults, and then they performed at The Wonderland (without the film and radio broadcasts) for a run.

When Blaine had told Kurt that performers had other jobs too, he had assumed that meant they were waiters or teachers by day. What he'd actually meant was they were instructors or stage crew. When not performing, they made costumes and sets, repaired instruments, rigged sound and lighting equipment, and even acted as maids and handymen around The Wonderland.

It finally hit Kurt that his dreams were coming true. He was an actor in a real theater company.

"What about something like _Plaza Suite_?" Blaine wondered. "We'd probably have to do some rewriting, though, and someone would have to double up."

"_Abigail's Party_ has five characters," Dagny suggested. "Just genderswap some roles, and you'd all have a part. But that might be a little dated for a group of teenagers to do."

"_The Creation of the World and Other Business_," Kurt offered.

Everyone at the table went quiet while they skimmed through the play in their minds. It took less than fifteen seconds for excited chatter to break out. The play was perfect for a group of acting students, as Kurt now felt comfortable thinking of himself. It was by a celebrated playwright, a black comedy, and a little controversial.

"We'll have to double up on some parts, but that will just even out the number of lines we have," Jeff said excitedly.

"Obviously, I'm playing Eve," Hana said.

The rest of the conversation was lost in a cacophony of voices all speaking over each other and to each other in various combinations. It was decided, without ever really stating it plainly, that they were doing _The Creation of the World and Other Business_.

Over the next couple days, they found a copy of the play in the library, made photocopies (the very act scandalized Kurt until he realized the concept of royalties, copyright, and stage rights no longer applied), and sat around the boys' common room reading through the play and deciding on parts.

As it was Jeff's last semester in school, he needed a sufficiently large part to show their instructors he was ready to begin acting in the broadcast productions. Also, since he had been denied solos with The Carrollers a whopping six times (Kurt actually cringed), he wanted to make his name as an actor. No one argued when Hana said he would make an excellent God.

The rest of the roles were all rather decided like solos in glee club, except instead of being overlooked because of his unusual voice, Kurt found himself with a very important supporting role: Lucifer. The satirical play called for a Lucifer that was logical, relatable, and generally nothing like modern depictions of the devil. With Blaine playing Adam opposite Hana's Eve, Nick playing all three Angels, and Amara and Ebele talked into playing Cain and Abel, they had their cast finalized.

Yunjin was glad to hear it and immediately approved their play and casting choices. In addition to producing major events for the company, Yunjin was one of their three acting coaches and their advisor for this production.

**o o o**

Blaine trudged up the stairs and into the common room after a particularly grueling vocal lesson with Andreas. For a tenor, Andreas said, Blaine had a weak falsetto. After working through the alto and mezzo notes for two hours, Blaine's throat and head ached. He collapsed onto the sofa without so much as removing his coat.

"How do you do it, Kurt?" he moaned pitifully.

Kurt peered over at Blaine with a quizzically arched brow. His hands stilled with a pair of trousers – seams half torn out – and seam ripper in dexterous fingers.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Sing in falsetto so much. Half a countertenor's range is falsetto, right?"

"Less than half, in my case," Kurt bragged. "But, yes, I do sing mostly in falsetto. It's actually the middle notes I find hard to hold steady. I don't know how I do it, but it comes very naturally to me."

Blaine groaned and beat his head against the cushions, but that only made his headache worse. He finally shrugged off his coat and hung it up on the pegs inside the door.

"What are you doing anyway?"

"I'm trying to make our costumes for the play, but Natalia and Lark are hogging all the sewing machines at The Wonderland, and so short of setting my alarm clock for two in the morning, I don't even know how I'm supposed to manage to get these made. It's not like I want to sew a whole fashion show – although I have thought about designing some of my own clothes. I just want an hour after school to make seven costumes. Is that so much to ask?" Kurt ranted.

He threw down the seam ripper in frustration and let the torn up pants pool in his lap.

"And you know what the worst part is? I _saw_ a sewing machine at the warehouse today. It's a fantastic new model that I could never afford if I had to pay dollars for it. But my yellows are gone and Ayo refused to take a blue for it, so it's just sitting there for anyone to take, and I just know it's going to be gone before the first Monday in February."

"Whoa. Kurt, hey. Calm down. It'll be fine."

"No, Blaine, it won't!"

Kurt turned away and blinked at the sudden moisture in his eyes. Blaine scooted closer, but waited for the other boy to take the lead and share what had him so upset. As much as Kurt loved clothes, Blaine couldn't imagine him crying over a sewing machine.

"Normally, I would be sitting in the choir room trying not to strangle Rachel while she nattered at us to make sure we're sewing on our sequins the right way and hearing some crazy theory of Brittany's about sequins being baby disco balls and sharing significant looks with Mercedes while trying not to laugh." He took a deep breath. "I don't want to sound like I don't have good friends here, because I do. But I miss them so much."

Blaine forced a sad smile. "Would it help to talk about them? Come on, tell me more."

Kurt hesitated. "Are you sure? I don't want to sound ungrateful for everything you've done."

"They sound amazing, Kurt. I'd love to know more about them."

"Well, the first thing you have to know is that they're not perfect …."

Kurt talked for a good half hour about New Directions. He named each member and shared his best (and worst) memories about them. Blaine listened with rapt attention at the sheer amount of dysfunction, even for a bunch of teenagers.

"Oh, and then there was Mercedes' crush on me," Kurt said. "The girl didn't realize I was gay. No, seriously," he emphasized, when Blaine cracked an incredulous smile. "She thought I was in love with Rachel, so she busted the front window of my car, because I – quote – 'busted her heart.' It was insane. Tina told me I should have known when we went to spy on Vocal Adrenaline."

"Spy?" Blaine sputtered. "No way. You would be the worst spy ever."

"I would be an amazing spy!"

"Kurt, you couldn't blend in if your life depended on it."

The pale boy flushed, clearly taking the statement as the compliment Blaine had intended. He preened for a moment. "Why thank you, Blaine."

"Oh my God, Kurt!" Blaine laughed suddenly. "Didn't you say you were on your way to spy too when you arrived here? Is spying like your glee club's tradition or something?"

"Oh, the amount of spying I've done is nothing compared to Rachel. You'd think we'd learned our lesson last year. Nothing good ever comes of our spying missions."

A lull in the conversation brought a frown back to Kurt's lips, and Blaine wondered if talking about his friends had actually made him miss them more. But now that he knew Kurt wasn't opposed to breaking the rules, he had an idea to cheer him up.

"Get your coat," Blaine said.

Kurt furrowed his brow and glanced out the window. Night had fallen already, and a strong wind rattled the windows. All day it had been blowing snow against north walls and leaving behind icy patches of cobblestone. It wasn't ideal weather to go out in, but they might not have another opportunity.

Blaine got Nick and Jeff from their rooms and filled them in on the plans, then he went next door to get Hana, and she ran upstairs to grab Dagny. Within five minutes, they were all bundled up and heading out the front door onto Broadway.

"Somebody tell me why I'm risking wind burn!" Kurt shouted over the howling wind.

They turned the corner onto Main, which earned them enough shielding from the wind that they didn't feel the need to bend double or have to scream to talk to each other.

"We're getting you a sewing machine," Nick said with a smile. "Three cheers for thieving!"

To Kurt's shock, they actually cheered three times. He gaped at his friends and shook his head.

"We can't steal the sewing machine from the warehouse!" he sputtered.

"Relax. It's a rite of passage. Like stealing a rival school's mascot or teepee-ing your coach's house on Halloween," Dagny said. "They only come down hard on you if you get excessive or take something really rare. Sewing machines are fair game."

Kurt wasn't entirely sold on the idea. He was a good kid and didn't break many rules, aside from spying, singing ancient MC Hammer songs in the library, and letting April Rhodes seduce him into waywardness with vintage muscle magazines. Nonetheless, he found himself slipping in through an unlocked door – at which point he started to feel a little better, because if it was unlocked how much could the administration care? – and into the vast warehouse.

"So where is this wonderful sewing machine?" Jeff asked.

Kurt glanced up and down their current aisle to get his bearings, and then led his friends to the place where he had seen the sewing machine earlier in the day. The gleaming white machine shone faintly in the nighttime gloom. Kurt ran his finger over the logo.

"This is it."

"So grab it."

Kurt balked at Hana. If any of his friends were going to object to this, he figured it would be her. She didn't look the least bit ashamed of being a thief, and it occurred to Kurt that if this was a rite of passage, it probably wasn't her first time on this type of excursion.

He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but Kurt threw his left arm over the top of the sewing machine and lifted the base with his right hand. His friends did silent victory dances which looked so ridiculous, especially considering they were thieves celebrating before they got away, that he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

"We should go," he hissed at them. "Tempting fate and all that."

They ran all the way back to the boys' room with the wind at their backs and juggling the sewing machine between them, except Hana whose thick layers prevented her from actually encircling her arms around it. Whether it was the cold getting to them or the high from getting away with it, they collapsed onto the sofas and loveseats in fits of giggles and stole glances at the sewing machine every few minutes.

"I cannot believe I did that. You're bad influences."

"Just wait for May Day," Dagny said with a mischievous grin.

No one would tell Kurt anything about May Day, other than the incredibly unhelpful and obvious tidbit that it was held on the first of May every year.

After a quarter hour gloating and rehashing just how much Kurt couldn't believe he'd stolen something as valuable as this sewing machine, they conceded that it was very late and turned in for the night. Kurt put the sewing machine on his desk in his room and stared at it while he got ready for bed. When he moved it back out into the common room, Nick arched an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I feel like it's staring at me."

Nick was still laughing when Kurt crawled into bed. He chuckled into his own pillow. Whatever guilt he felt, he was pretty sure he'd get over it quickly and put the sewing machine to good use. He dreamed of amazing costumes and brand new clothes the likes of which Here had never seen.


	20. Fourteen

**FOURTEEN**

Kurt sat at the small round table in the center of the dining room with papers spread out in front of him as he sipped at his mocha. He still hadn't grown accustomed to drinking his coffee out of a china mug, so he'd found a hard plastic reusable mug in the shape of a disposable coffee cup and marked it as his own with the BeDazzler in The Wonderland.

"That is a lot of effort to claim a cup."

Kurt looked up in surprise to see Christophe standing over the table. He had bundled up in a heavy red coat, scarf, and hat for the walk between his house and the apartments. After he pulled off his winter things and sat down, he turned the plastic cup a little to admire the gold KURT beads inside the glittery black coffee collar.

"Coffee is very important to me. Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, please. It is freezing outside."

Christophe drank hot tea, which Kurt thought he knew how to make until the other boy joined him in the kitchen and demonstrated how to make it with tea leaves and a strainer.

"Can I be honest with you? I've been wondering what the hell that thing was since I first saw it," Kurt said, pointing at the strainer.

Christophe laughed appreciatively as they made their way back into the dining room and took their seats around the many neat stacks of paper Kurt had been reading through a few moments ago. They got down to business without much preamble.

After their talk regarding projects for the GSA, Kurt had stopped Christophe a couple times in the hallway to discuss what he was going to present to the group at the next meeting. After the third impromptu meeting, Christophe had suggested sitting down together and working out the details.

"Your action plans are very good, but may I be frank? I do not think the club will want to do any of these projects." He smiled kindly when Kurt's face fell. "Most of us prefer to keep our heads down and survive school. These projects, while they are very educational, will draw a lot of attention to ourselves."

Kurt huffed indignantly. "That's one step short of going back into the closet. We have a responsibility to do this, Christophe. Nothing will ever change if someone isn't brave enough to stand up. We will never have a better opportunity to educate our bullies."

"If you feel that strongly about it, then that is what you should present at the next meeting. Do not talk just about these workshops and poster campaigns. Tell them why they should want to participate."

Kurt and Christophe finished up their meeting in time for breakfast. Ciara bustled out of the kitchen with a tureen of scrambled eggs and stopped short when she saw Christophe; Cillian almost ran into her with a platter of buttered toast balancing on his hand.

"What's wrong with you today, girly?" he asked, sidestepping around her. "First you burn the bacon, and then you forget to salt the eggs, and now you're stopping in doorways."

"Oh, hush, you! Kurt has a new friend."

The old woman fixed Kurt with a steady, piercing gaze that made him blush to his ears, and he stammered when introducing Christophe to his guardians. Cillian took it all in stride and invited Christophe to stay for breakfast. The older man directed the boy over to the start of the buffet line and pushed a plate into his hands.

"Now, Kurt," Ciara chided. "We don't have a lot of rules for you kids, but I don't like seeing strange boys turning up overnight."

"Oh! No, Ciara. No, no." Kurt felt like his whole face was on fire. "Christophe came over this morning to talk about the GSA."

With that, he escaped the Inquisition by rushing to fill up a plate with eggs and bacon. He didn't know why he felt the need to justify himself. If he wanted a boy to stay overnight with him, that was his business. Not that he particularly wanted that. That came dangerously close to activities Kurt didn't want to think about just yet.

When the other teenagers came down to breakfast, they too were brought up short by the unexpected sight of Christophe sitting at their breakfast table by the window. They were all friends with him, but only at school.

"Does anyone else think this is headed in a bad direction?" Nick asked.

He glanced over his should while he moved down the breakfast line after Jeff. The lanky blond nodded significantly, and Hana frowned deeply at the two boys already eating at the table. She seemed more upset than anything.

"What do you know?" Nick demanded.

"Nothing!" she snapped, which of course meant she knew something significant.

When they took their seats at the table, they made polite conversation with Christophe while their eyes darted nervously to the doorway Blaine would walk through at any moment. No one knew for sure what was going on between Kurt and Blaine, but they'd all come to the conclusion that it was _something_.

But Blaine never came down to breakfast. At first, Nick and Jeff thought they'd dodged a bullet. But then they found Blaine sitting in the courtyard at school rolling a coffee cup in his hands and staring at two snowbirds hopping around under a barren beech tree.

"Oh, hey, guys," Blaine said, all false cheer.

Nick and Jeff exchanged knowing looks as they settled down on the low stone wall on either side of Blaine. They held a furious, lip-read debate about who would speak first. Jeff lost.

"So … We missed you at breakfast."

"Yeah." Blaine frowned at the spinning cup in his hands. "The table looked a little full this morning."

Nick and Jeff exchanged dark glances behind Blaine's back. They, too, had jumped to the worst conclusion when they'd seen Christophe in the dining room, but it had turned out to be an innocuous visit. Kurt hadn't acted at all flirty with Christophe like he was with Blaine.

"Look, I'm just going to lay it out for you, Blaine," Nick said. "It's not what it looked like. But if you have feelings for Kurt, you need to talk to him about it."

"Hark who's talking," Blaine scoffed.

"Dagny and I _have_ talked."

"And how long did that take?" Jeff grumbled. "But despite Nick being _this close_ to hypocrisy, he's right. Man up and tell Kurt that you like him."

Blaine turned glares on his friends. "How selfish is that advice?" he snapped. "Jeff, you know better than anyone he's not adjusted to living here yet. I don't want our whole relationship predicated on exploiting his emotional vulnerability."

"And that's commendable. But not everyone has your morals. You're too busy staring at Kurt to notice, but he has more than one admirer. So do you, by the way."

Blaine's head whipped in Nick's direction. The other boy laughed at his friend's wide-eyed surprise. He and Jeff pulled Blaine up off the wall and into the blessed warmth of the school. Parrish came at them from the other direction, but kept his tactics to leers today.

Blaine zoned out in all of his classes. At the end of the day, he realized he hadn't taken more than five bullet point notes in any of his lessons. He was too distracted by the image of Kurt and Christophe chatting and laughing over breakfast. What had stung worst of all was how good they looked together, like models in a couture advertisement in _Vogue_. Then Blaine had started thinking about all the things about Christophe Kurt must love: French-speaking, Parisian (by way of Africa, but Paris was still Paris), his polite mannerism, intelligence, athleticism, leadership abilities.

With a groan, Blaine let his head fall onto his desk. The class was too large for anyone to take notice of one boy literally banging his head against the desk. He was doomed. He would never get Kurt. He was just this Hobbit-sized gay kid who faked confidence so no one suspected how clueless he felt all the time. Compared to Christophe he was just … laughable.

Unless, maybe …. There was no denying that Blaine knew Kurt better. They were best friends, and they had a very special bond that could only exist between arrival and finder. Maybe, _maybe_ he had a chance if he told Kurt he was interested in something more than friendship.

"Oh my God!" Kurt exclaimed. "You will not believe what just happened in musicology!"

Classes had just let out for the day, and they had plans to meet up and do a table read of _The Creation of the World and Other Business_. So far, Blaine had been waiting alone for five minutes. He grinned at Kurt's obvious excitement.

"Right. Well, we were talking about singing parts – basic things, you know – and Professor Morgenstern just up and calls me to the front of the room to demonstrate a countertenor's full range. I just – Blaine, I sang a high F in front of a room full of people! The last time I was supposed to do that, I threw the note. I've regretted that ever since, because I couldn't just casually throw into a conversation that I can sing a High F without Rachel suspecting something, and although she is seriously grating, I don't want to be cruel and make her second guess her own talent."

"Wait. You can sing a high F? Kurt, that is … amazing. I want to hear it!"

Kurt preened. "Tonight. After the table read. I'll regale you with _Defying Gravity_."

He kept his promise after the whole cast had read through their play, and they'd taken notes from each other and Yunjin on which creative directions to explore. Since they were a student group, they had almost no limits on what their audience would tolerate, but religion was a sticky issue sure to offend some – including Hana, who took great offense when Jeff played God as too feeble-minded. She was currently not speaking to him because of it.

"Well, I can see producing this play is going to be wrought with just as much drama as the week before New Directions goes to competition," Kurt said.

"It's a good thing we have _Defying Gravity_ to look forward to."

Blaine took the sheet music to the piano and waited for Kurt's signal to start playing the song. It was different without the full orchestra and Kurt singing the song as a solo, but his voice was magnificent as always, and he nailed the high F.

"Kurt, you are … I don't even know. There aren't words."

Kurt slid onto the piano bench beside Blaine. They sat with their sides pressing together and fingers teasing the ivory keys for several moments. They both made to speak at the same time and found themselves turning to one another and very close without meaning for it to happen. Kurt swallowed thickly, and Blaine wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't been staring at his lips.

"Matchless," Blaine said, tearing his eyes away and collecting and folding the sheet music very deliberately.

Kurt started at Blaine's sudden withdraw, and for a minute, Blaine thought he could get away without an explanation like he had at Christmas. But luck, and Kurt's patience, was not with him today.

"Blaine, can I ask you something? Because I've always been able to talk to you about anything."

Blaine's fingers gripped the sheet music so tightly the paper crinkled in unnatural patterns. He forced himself to nod ever so slightly.

"We're always singing flirty duets together and having these intense personal moments, and then you're just _gone_. I'm getting some serious mixed signals, and I don't know what I'm supposed to think. I thought, just now, and on Christmas morning, that you were going to kiss me."

Blaine froze. Kurt had accused him of something so completely true he didn't even know where to begin explaining or defending himself. Not that leading a guy on could be justified.

The shorter boy sighed deeply and let the sheet music fall onto the top of the black baby grand piano. He felt a mask of torture on his face, because he didn't want to say this, but he had to. Regardless of the consequences, he couldn't – _wouldn't_ – ever make Kurt wonder if he'd been taken advantage of by his best friend.

"Kurt, I _really_ care about you. I think I found you outside the greenhouses for a reason. You've come to mean more to me than anyone else here. But I don't want to screw this up."

Kurt took a deep breath. "So it'll be just like _When Harry Met Sally_? But I get to play Meg Ryan."

"Deal," Blaine laughed. "Wait. Don't they get together in the end?"

He wasn't asking because he was skeptical; he was asking to hear that Kurt would wait for him. But he didn't get what he wanted. He got a flirty smile before Kurt left the practice room, but not a promise.

**o o o**

Admittedly, Dagny wasn't as smart as her friends. She'd certainly never been college track when she was in school, but she had more intuition than all of them put together. When Kurt and Blaine didn't come back with the rest of the group, and when Kurt came back alone half an hour later, Dagny didn't hesitate to grab her coat and go in search of Blaine.

She found him in one the practice rooms with his head in his hands. She eased down onto the piano bench next to him and wrapped him up in a tight hug that he leaned into easily. He buried his face in her shoulder, but she could tell from his even breathing he wasn't overcome with whatever emotion made him look for solitude. When the edge of his glasses bit too far into her clavicle to stay silent about it any longer, she made him sit up.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'll be – "

"I have an indent over my collarbone that says otherwise. You haven't let me hold you when you're upset in _years_, Blaine. So, come on. Tell me what's going on."

Blaine sighed and shifted his eyes sideways. "We haven't talked about this kind of thing in a while. It's … about a guy."

The girl so obviously wanted to grin ear-to-ear, but kept her face neutral for Blaine's sake.

"I grew up in Palo Alto and was in a community dance company, Blaine. This isn't my first time at the rodeo. And, trust me, talking to a girl about this is going to be so much better than talking to Nick or Jeff."

"What makes you think I wouldn't talk to Kurt?"

Dagny rolled her eyes. "Because while you might take a heaping dose of oblivious every morning at breakfast, I do not."

"Does everyone – "

"Yes."

Blaine turned pale pink and ducked his head. His curls fell over his forehead like he used to wear them when he was younger. He reminded Dagny so much of that twelve-year-old boy who had watched her dancing down the corridor of the pediatric ward with a smile on his bruised, swollen face she couldn't help but reach over and brush them out of his eyes.

"Yeah, I need a haircut," he mumbled.

She wasn't taking the bait and letting him get away with changing the subject. She stayed silent until he started talking and told her the whole story, which was exactly what she suspected – boy meets boy, but there's a conflict. She kept an arm around Blaine's waist the whole time and he let her.

"Did I make the right choice, Dagny? Or did I just screw up everything anyway by making him think I don't like him in that way?"

He looked so tortured it broke her heart, but he put up just enough resistance that she couldn't cuddle him. That's what happened when boys grew into young men, she told herself, but it didn't make her miss the boy she'd met in the hospital any less.

"You already know what I think, Blaine. Of course you did the right thing. There are stages of grief, and Kurt hasn't seen them all yet. He thinks he has, because he's accepted he's lost his family and friends, but we both know there's a whole other grief cycle coming."

"He's mentioned it a few times, but it hasn't hit him yet."

Dagny sighed. "Humans are so egocentric without even realizing it. It's a tough thing to accept that life goes on without us, but it does. One day, it'll hit Kurt like a freight train, just like it did all of us. Maybe he'll adjust well like you and Hana or maybe he'll never get over it like Jeff. But if he's like me – and you have to admit our personalities aren't so different – it's going to be a freaking Greek tragedy."

"I want to be there for him when it happens. I don't want to be the guy he pushes away because he feels I betrayed him by making him accept his life here."

"I know, Blainers."

He rolled his eyes at the nickname and cast her a sassy look that almost made her laugh out loud.

"But seriously," she went on. "Coming here, it's kind of like getting a phone call in the middle of the night that everyone you've ever known was on the same plane and that plane crashed in a fiery explosion. It's cruel what we've gone through, and it's not something you just get over. And a decent person doesn't go around romancing a cute boy two and a half months after he's lost every person he's ever known. So, yes, Blaine, you made the right choice."

They sat silently for several minutes, comfortable with the stillness between them. Dagny let go when Blaine started to fidget. They donned their coats and headed out into the chilly night air without speaking, but once they were crunching through the snow with the wind at their backs, Blaine had something to say.

"Nick said you two talked."

"Huh uh." Dagny waved both hands at Blaine. "We're not doing this again."

"Dags!"

She scowled at the nickname, but knew it was payback for using Blainers. "Fine. Yes, we talked. We decided that we've been waiting so long anyway that the seven months until Nick is sixteen is nothing compared to it."

Blaine scooped up her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm like he'd seen Kurt walking with Hana. He'd always thought it would be awkward walking with a girl like that, but it wasn't. Dagny was so much like his sister there wasn't any discomfort between them anymore.

"I know what it's like having feelings you can't act on. I'm sorry you have to go through that too. But you both seem happier lately. So the talk helped things?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "It's made things … bearable. Now that it's out in the open how we both feel, pining is pointless and so is moving on. We can be together, just not right now, and we're both okay with that because we have to be."

After a pause, Dagny sucked in a frigid breath and slapped a gloved hand over her mouth. Blaine tried to smile and shook his head.

"It's all right. I know that wasn't a dig."

"Not at all, Blainers."

"Okay, that's got to stop!" Blaine cried.

"Or what?" she challenged.

"Or we'll have to decide it how we did when we were kids … no holds barred snowball fight."

Dagny jumped up and down in the snow and clapped her hands over her head. Several older pedestrians turned to stare at the almost twenty-year-old woman bouncing around like a child. She was too excited over the prospect of a snowball fight to even care.

"Tomorrow. High noon," she challenged.

They stared at one another for a few seconds before turning and sprinting towards the apartments to gather up their teams.


	21. Interlude: Dagny

**INTERLUDE**

Dagny sat on the squishy sofa with her feet tucked under her. The light blue pajama pants she wore were too long for her, something rare for a girl of 5'10", and covered her socked feet with an extra layer of warmth. She retracted her hands into the long sleeves of her robe and bunched up the extra material into her fists.

"Are you cold?" Dr. Chen asked.

He sat in his armchair across from her with his always placid smile fixed on his lips. He was a handsome Taiwanese man with bright, dark eyes and always neatly dressed. She would have a crush on him if he wasn't so mean to her all the time.

"I'll be fine. I was dancing in the hallway, and you know the heat isn't very good out in the open spaces. You can ask me your questions now."

Dr. Chen scribbled something in the yellow legal pad balanced on his crossed knees. Dagny tried to stretch and read what he wrote, but it was pointless as always.

"Your birthday is coming up soon. It's a big one, and the nurses want to have a party for you. What kinds of gifts should I tell them you want?"

"I'd say I want a pony, but then you'd make me start taking pills again," the girl deadpanned. "So, I guess … I don't know. What do supposedly sixteen-year-old girls want for their birthdays?"

"Supposedly?" Dr. Chen prompted. "Do you not believe you're sixteen?"

Dagny sighed deeply and ducked her head. Of course she was sixteen. When she looked into the mirror, she saw a sixteen-year-old girl's body. She had feminine features, not yet mature but certainly not child-like, and decent sized breasts. She was also too tall to be much younger than sixteen.

But she didn't _feel_ sixteen. How could anyone feel sixteen when they'd spent the last four years in a drug-induced haze in the "I went bat shit crazy when I realized this was really happening" ward in Here's hospital. Those four years were a blur of white walls, screaming for her mother to save her, and nonsense conversations with Dr. Chen.

So, yes, she had been born sixteen years ago. But she wasn't sixteen. She was twelve.

"I know that it's 2007, and I was born in 1991," she grumbled.

"I know this isn't an easy thing to come to terms with. For an adult, losing four years would be troublesome. But I know it's even harder for you because you're a child. Nothing about this is fair, Dagny, and it never will be."

"What am I supposed to do? I can't go back to sixth grade because everyone will think I'm super stupid, but I can't be in tenth grade either. I want to go the playground and _really_ swing, not just sit there and try to look cool. I want to go to a dance in the school gym with a terrible DJ _before_ I go to prom. I want – I want my mom to show me how to put on make-up, and I want m-m-my …"

She looked away when tears sprang to her eyes. If she got herself too upset, Dr. Chen would want to give her an injection. She always got so tense whenever she saw the orderlies coming in to hold her down, and she'd probably throw something at them without even realizing what she was doing. Then she'd end up strapped down to her bed again for the next two days "for her own safety."

"You've made tremendous progress since we've lowered your doses. You remember how difficult it was to accept that this isn't a game of make believe, don't you?" She nodded. "But you worked through it because you're strong, Dagny. You can make a full recovery and become a productive member of society, I'm sure of it."

She accepted the tissue he held out to her and dabbed at her eyes.

"As for what you can do …. I would suggest we start by moving you out of the psychiatric ward and into a room on the pediatric ward. You'll be able to make friends your own age there. And by 'your own age' I mean teenagers in general. There's no rule that says you can only be friends with people born the same year as you."

"Umm. No? No one is going to want to be friends with me. It's too weird that I look sixteen and act twelve. I used to be the most popular girl in school, and now I'm a total outcast."

"You might be surprised who you meet. No one here is without their quirks. It's what makes us unique that brings us here in the first place. So what do you say? Will you give life on the pediatric ward a try?"

Dagny dipped her head while she considered.

Saying no might make it seem like she was pretending to be better, and then she'd have to start taking all the pills again. Anyway, she'd had enough of these white walls and crazy faces peering out of Plexiglas windows in locked doors. She would enjoy the splashes of color and freedom of movement on the pediatric ward. And maybe Dr. Chen was right. Maybe there was a friend waiting for her there.

She nodded. "All right. I'll give it a try."


	22. Fifteen

**FIFTEEN**

Kurt had a hard time believing he was actually doing this. A snowball fight to settle a feud over nicknames. At high noon. He felt a kind of giddy elation that he was free to act immaturely. New Directions always brimmed with so much ambition and drama that it was exhausting. It was nice to forget all that and just act like a teenager.

Thinking about New Directions in that light made Kurt feel guilty too. He'd had plenty of good times with his old friends. And thinking of them as old friends made him feel even more guilt. He tried to rationalize it. He would never see them again, so what was the point of holding onto their memories so protectively? Surely they would have drifted apart after high school anyway. He knew they were still out there in the world somewhere, and that would have to be good enough.

By the time Kurt had bundled up in his winter gear and made his way to the sloping hill between the wind turbines and greenhouse, he was in a decidedly less cheerful mood. He needed the sight of Jeff tripping into a snow drift and coming up covered head to toe in packed snow to lend him a little levity.

"I sense our chances are good," Kurt told Nick.

Only their friends would participate in Blaine and Dagny's childish game, but that was fine with them. They had even numbers with Kurt and Nick on Dagny's team and Hana and Jeff on Blaine's. Everyone had looked sidelong at Blaine when the teams were announced because they'd assumed he'd snatch up Kurt first.

But Dagny, with her athleticism and longer legs, reached the apartments first. Blaine found it hard to get too angry about that, because the first person she'd recruited was Kurt, and that meant Blaine didn't have to talk to him just yet. Thinking that way made him feel cowardly, but he couldn't even think about talking to Kurt without his stomach clenching painfully.

"All normal rules apply," Dagny said.

"Which means there are none," Hana added, for Kurt's benefit.

"First team to make it to the safety of the greenhouse wins. If you're injured, yell 'peaches,' but if you fake it, you face injury by firing squad."

"Peaches?" Kurt asked.

"Well, you're not very likely to go around screaming 'peaches' otherwise, are you? Okay. Are we ready? Then we'll start after a five minute tactical meeting."

Dagny grabbed Nick and Kurt by the collars and dragged them half a dozen yards away from Blaine's team. She knelt down in the snow and started drawing incomprehensible diagrams in the snow. Kurt looked on with amused fascination.

"Nick, you're in charge of making snowballs. I want them big and I want them coming fast." Nick stifled his laughter behind a hand, and Dagny slapped him hard around the head. "You'll be stationed behind the oak tree. It's not much cover, so dig a fox hole and hunker down. I'm the fastest runner, so I'll draw their fire away."

"Were you a soldier in another life?" Nick wondered. Dagny hit him again.

"Kurt, you're … wearing a bright orange coat. That throws a wrench in my plans for you."

"Burnt orange," he corrected. "It's this season Burberry and the same one I've been wearing all winter. What were you planning to have me do?"

"We need to get behind enemy lines and smoke them out."

Kurt held up his palms. "Okay. It's a snowball fight, and as cute as I find the nickname 'Blainers,' I think we've gone way overboard on the military jargon, so let's just have fun, all right?"

Their five minutes were up, so even if she'd wanted to respond, Dagny didn't have the time. Blaine, Hana, and Jeff dashed to their "territory" and demonstrated that they had a very different strategy in mind. Instead of digging fox holes and setting up a snowball-making factory, they packed and threw snowballs without relent.

A hunk of snow and ice exploded against Kurt's chest and into his face. He let out a high-pitched scream and scrambled away, looking for any cover on this hopelessly barren hillside. He tried to hide behind the tree, but Dagny seized him by the arms and dragged him backwards. He landed on his backside in the snow and rolled down the hill with an indignant squawk.

"That's Nick's spot!" she yelled.

Kurt landed flat on his back, head going downhill and arms splayed out at odd angles. Because he was now closest to the greenhouse, all three opposing team members trained their snowball barrage on him. Bits of ice and snow assailed him from every angle. He threw his hands up to shield his face while he flipped over and got to his feet.

"This game sucks!" he screamed at no one in particular.

Some relief from the assault came when Nick finally made Dagny some snowballs and she darted out from behind the tree. She drew some attention away from Kurt, so he turned and fled down the hill with his arms over his head. He intended to escape the game by hiding out behind the tool shed. Unfortunately, going downhill meant getting closer to the greenhouses than ever.

Snowballs collided against his back every few seconds. No matter how loud he screamed or demented he sounded, whoever was throwing them would not let up. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Jeff charging down the hill after him, hurling snowballs as he ran. And then one of the snowballs smacked Kurt in the face.

Kurt shrieked – and it sounded like a little girl even to his ears – and his feet got tangled up. Next thing he knew, he was face down in the snow, and Jeff was cackling madly over him. When Kurt pushed himself to his knees, his lips had formed a thin line, and he glared daggers at the crowing boy.

Kurt screamed in some approximation of a war cry.

Jeff yelled in surprise when Kurt jumped on top of him. They tottered for a moment, and then Jeff collapsed into a thigh-deep snow drift. Kurt pinned him down with his knees biting into Jeff's waist, grabbed a handful of snow, and shoved it into his face.

"What! Kurt!"

The blond thrashed around trying to get Kurt off him and escape the loose snow being stuffed into his face every few seconds. Kurt surprised a lot of people with his strength. He might be slender, but he was toned. Jeff was taller, but thin as a toothpick.

"Stop! Cold! Stop! PEACHES! PEACHES! _PEACHES!_"

"Oh my God!" Kurt shouted. "Take it like a man, Jeff!"

A chorus of laughter followed his statement, and he looked up to see his friends forming a semi-circle. Suddenly, it became clear to him how this looked. Flushing deep crimson, Kurt rolled off and Jeff darted to his feet.

"He's faking!" Hana cried, pointing accusingly at her boyfriend. Obviously, she was still angry at him. "Firing squad!"

It happened so quickly Kurt wasn't sure how they'd done it, but they had Jeff backed up against the tool shed. Quick as they could pack snowballs, they were pelting the blond without mercy. Hana cackled gleefully the whole time, and Nick threw the balls so hard Kurt wondered if he'd put his arm out doing it. The firing squad ceased when Jeff sank to the ground, huddled up and whimpering.

"Good job," Nick said, looking to Kurt. "We can't make each other crack very often."

"Are you going to live?" Dagny asked, nudging Jeff with the toe of her boot.

He looked up balefully. His cheeks were bright pink from the cold, and red blotches had broken out where bits of packed ice had hit his face. It startled Kurt how much damage they'd done, but Jeff flexed his jaw and rubbed at his cheeks, flashing a smile as he did so.

"Apparently. Shall we get back to it?"

With Dagny's tactical strategy now in shambles, the snowball fight continued in a more traditional manner. They ran around the hill between the tool shed and greenhouses making their own snowballs and hitting any target in sight, which sometimes happened to be a team member. Despite the wet and cold, Kurt had long ago started to enjoy himself.

Hana made a mad dash for the greenhouse, which Nick thwarted, and they went running uphill towards the wind turbine. Dagny and Jeff were rolling around in the snow, apparently trying to wrestle while also throwing snowballs. For two such good dancers, their flailing arms and legs looked spectacularly uncoordinated.

The two events happening simultaneously, however, gave Kurt the distraction he needed. He slipped around the side of the tool shed and darted towards the glass dome of the greenhouse. He didn't think Blaine had seen him until a strong pair of arms wrapped around his waist from behind and pulled him backwards when he was just a few feet away from the glass.

They went tumbling into the snow, and Kurt ended up flat on his back again. Only this time, Blaine was on top of him. The sounds of Dagny and Jeff's exertions and Nick and Hana shrieking up the hill faded into the background. There was only the heavy rhythm of Kurt and Blaine's labored breathing.

Every rational part of Blaine's mind told him to get up now. He needed to stand up and hold out a hand for Kurt and pretend this was just as platonic as Dagny and Jeff wrestling. But his body wouldn't cooperate. The feel of Kurt's legs stretched out against his own, the rise and fall of their chests pushing together, the way his eyes locked onto Blaine's all kept him in place. His gloved fingers moved without his permission and stroked at the wet hair by Kurt's temples. His head dipped, and suddenly he was centimeters away from Kurt's lips.

And then he was gone. Kurt felt like screaming, because _of course_. Of course Blaine would almost kiss him again and then bolt. Anger born of hurt bubbled up in his chest as he climbed to his feet. Blaine stood a few paces away, half turned away from Kurt.

"I'm sorry, Kurt. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm … I'm sorry," Blaine said lamely.

"I don't understand you. We just talked about this yesterday. I basically told you that I wanted to be your boyfriend, and you said you didn't want to screw up our friendship. And now here we are back in the same place. It's not fair, Blaine."

Blaine had no justification for his actions. As much as he wanted to say it was all 'teenage boy hormones,' Kurt was a teenage boy too, and he wasn't acting contradictory to his words. Blaine shifted his eyes to the snowflakes on top of his boots.

"You're right. I'm totally out of line here, Kurt."

"What do you want, Blaine? Do you want to be friends or boyfriends?"

The corners of Blaine's mouth dipped, and his brow formed deep furrows. The question felt like a knife slicing through his heart. He wanted Kurt, and he wanted Kurt to be happy here. Those two desires were at odds, and he knew his answer meant he couldn't have either.

"Friends."

Blaine's voice cracked the word in half. Kurt reeled away and stumbled backwards. His beautiful face contorted in pain, and his eyes – _oh god_ – filled with tears that he tried to hide by turning away. The knife turned in Blaine's chest. With a word, he'd rejected his best friend, the boy he wanted more than anything. Nothing could fix it, because Kurt didn't know the worst was on the horizon, and Blaine didn't have the heart to tell him, to bring the pain sooner than it had to come.

**o o o**

Kurt didn't bother staying for the rest of the snowball fight. His joyful mood had vanished entirely. He walked along Broadway with his fists shoved into his pockets and shivering as the dampness from melting snow seeped into his clothes.

He wanted Mercedes with him so badly it physically hurt him. He would even take Rachel's self-absorbed chattering about her relationship with Finn right now. Whatever they had done in the past to hurt him – and both girls had done plenty – time and distance had wiped the slate clean. He just wanted them here now, on his arms, consoling him.

He had asked Blaine to be his boyfriend, and Blaine said no. He shouldn't have to be on his own right now, to wallow in his misery alone. He had an insatiable desire to have a sleepover. But he couldn't ask Hana and Dagny. Dagny was Blaine's cheerleader, and Hana always stayed neutral.

"Are you all right, Kurt?"

Kurt started. He hadn't heard Christophe approaching, and that was saying something considering the way his boots crunched over the snow. He hoped the redness and puffiness around his eyes had gone down.

"I'll be fine. What are you doing here?"

"It is almost two o'clock on a Saturday when The Wonderland Company is not performing. Do not tell me you have not been going to see the movies they play for us every weekend."

Kurt had known about the movie screenings, but he'd just as soon spend his weekends watching VHS tapes from the library or singing with his friends. _Avatar_ might be a big hit with everyone else, but Kurt had had enough Na'vi to last him a lifetime. His silence was answer enough.

"You should join us sometime."

"Us?"

"Your group of friends are not the only people in school, Kurt. My friends – the football team – meet here every Saturday. We watch the two o'clock movie, then go to dinner, and then watch the seven o'clock movie or performance, whichever is happening that weekend."

By football team, Kurt assumed Christophe meant soccer. He'd never had much contact with the sports teams at school, who tended to keep to themselves as much as the performers. Like Kurt's friends, the athletes trained with the professional teams in Here. It all sounded boring to Kurt. There were only enough people for two or three teams, and televised or not, playing the same opponents over and over and over had to get old.

"I think you should join us today, Kurt. You look like you need some distraction." When Kurt didn't accept right away, he added, "They are playing _Enchanted_ this afternoon."

Kurt sucked in a breath. "I can't resist anyone from the original cast of _Wicked_. And I do need a good musical comedy to distract me today."

When they stepped into the warmth of The Wonderland, Kurt was grateful to pull of his wet coat and hang it over a radiator. As they made their way up to the mezzanine where the athletes – it was desperately hard not to call them jocks – always sat, Kurt peered at the stage where a large white screen had been erected. He wondered if someone had made it here or if a movie theater screen had honestly been lost on the other side.

The athletes were not exactly what Kurt was expecting. There were a few big, burly guys. Mostly though, they were lean and muscular, wearing a variety of styles from country club to hipster to fashion clueless. As Christophe introduced his friends, he also listed their sports. They were as versatile as the performers, it seemed. A tennis player also golfed and played soccer. A runner was also a cyclist (and played soccer, which was the universally loved game here, apparently).

"Any competitions for sai swords?" Kurt asked.

"Only as a demonstration, because I have no competitors," a senior named Ando said, leaning over Camille and Christophe.

Kurt's jaw slipped a little, but he didn't go to mentioning that he _could_ be competition. He didn't know if he was up to par, but he'd make a point of watching the demonstration to see if he measured up.

**o o o**

The day out with Christophe's friends was exactly what Kurt needed just then, especially since one of the movies was a musical. But the credits rolled on _Avatar_ (and he'd seriously had enough Na'vi now) at last, and he parted ways with the athletes in front of The Wonderland.

The night had turned frigid. His breath puffed out in front of him as he jogged down Broadway and rushed inside. Even the chill left by the geothermal heat felt wonderfully warm against his icy skin.

He took a deep breath before going into the common room. Nick looked up from a notebook full of equations, and Jeff peered at him over the top of the dinosaur laptop. Blaine and the girls were nowhere to be found, and Kurt had the sinking feeling he was being discussed at this very moment.

Without a word to his roommates, Kurt went into his bedroom and leaned against the back of the door. He understood what Blaine meant by not wanting to screw up their friendship.

"So why did you, damn it?" Kurt mumbled to the absent boy who would never be his.


	23. Sixteen

**SIXTEEN**

Cupid decided not to be kind to the teenagers in The Wonderland Company as Valentine's Day approached. Kurt and Blaine had a few awkward encounters after the snowball fight debacle, but they hadn't talked about it yet, something they both knew had to be done.

Nick and Dagny wouldn't be able to celebrate a Valentine's Day together until next year, something which had them both sullen but resigned.

And the only remaining ship was about to sink.

"You are being completely disrespectful!" Hana shouted, rounding on Jeff. "That is not the way God is written in the play! What you are doing is ridiculous, over-the-top, and offensive!"

Silence fell over the small stage where the students were running through their dialogue with Yunjin. The instructor opened her mouth, perhaps to tell the couple to take it outside or to chide Hana for breaking character so abruptly, but she was cut off by Jeff's angry retort.

"Stop being so touchy. There is no God, so how can he care that I'm making fun of him?"

"There is a God! And it's not about making fun of Him. It's about your disregard for anyone who believes in him."

"Stop! Enough!" Yunjin called, with surprising authority for such a soft-spoken woman. "This fight does not belong on stage. Save it for later."

"No," Hana stated. "I'm not finishing rehearsal with him playing God like that. It's insulting."

Jaws dropped as the tiny girl stormed off the stage and out of the auditorium. After several moments of tense silence, Yunjin tossed the script down and arched an eyebrow at the actors left on stage.

"I'm your advisor, not your therapist. We have less than two weeks before your performance, and monkeys throwing feces would be more entertaining than you right now. Get this worked out and get back in here within the next ten minutes." No one budged. "I mean it!"

The students scrambled off the stage. Amara and Ebele went to find Hana. Despite keeping to themselves mostly, they were her roommates and knew her well. Nick hauled Jeff off into a corner far from everyone else where they talked quietly together.

"Is this a usual pre-show meltdown? Or should I be worried?" Kurt asked.

"Did that seem like typical Hana or Jeff to you?" Blaine asked.

For a week, Kurt and Blaine had danced around each other. They walked to school as a group, ate lunch as a group, and rehearsed as a group. They hadn't been alone together at all, and they used the excuse of their friends' presence to put off the inevitable painful conversation.

For a minute, they stood uncomfortably side-by-side stealing glances when they thought the other wasn't looking. Eventually, their eyes met during a surreptitious look, and they turned away quickly. Kurt closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Look, Blaine. This is getting out of hand. I want to be your friend, so I'm willing to move past this if you are."

"I am," Blaine said quickly. "I know it's only been a week, and I've seen you every day, but … I miss you, Kurt. I want to be your friend too."

Kurt exhaled heavily. "I just –. You've told me you're not interested, but I need you to act like it too."

"I promise," Blaine said meekly, turning his eyes away.

"Then we're friends."

"Just like that? After what I did?"

"You apologized. I forgave you. That's what friends do."

Blaine exhaled deeply in relief. Kurt grinned in the corner of his mouth and opened his arms. They hugged briefly, but tightly. If sadness lingered in Kurt's eyes, Blaine said nothing about it. If regretted painted Blaine's face, Kurt let it go.

"Should we go find Hana and Jeff before they implode?" Kurt wondered. "I would never get involved in a Finchel fight, but I might wade knee-deep into it for Jena."

"Did you seriously give them a couple name? You are too cute."

Kurt preened.

**o o o**

Rehearsal ended with a stern lecture from Yunjin about professionalism. Hana and Jeff were assigned the unenviable task of cleaning The Wonderland top to bottom after the Sunday matinee movie. As they pushed brooms through the auditorium littered with popcorn, they occasionally passed in different rows and cast baleful glances at each other.

"We're not getting back together, are we?" Jeff said, at long last.

Hana paused with a mound of popcorn at the edge of her broom. She let the yellow handle rest against the row of seats and turned her full attention to the contrite boy two rows below her. They were almost eye level.

"No, we're not," she said. "We have like personalities, and I had fun while we were together. But we're very different people."

Jeff nodded sadly. "Yeah. I think I always knew that, but I enjoyed spending time with you so much I didn't think it would matter. None of our friends are exactly geniuses at compromise, and I just wanted to spend time with someone who wouldn't put up an argument to _every single thing_. But I guess a relationship needs some resistance otherwise …"

A brief flicker of a smile flashed across the girl's face as she nodded. "Otherwise, differences of opinion get too far out of hand and terrible things are said when they do. I'm sorry for what I called you. I know you don't understand Arabic, but … it was really bad. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Hana. I kind of wish you couldn't understand what I'd said. Seems a bit unfair that way, doesn't it?"

"It does."

The words Jeff had shouted at her during their ten minute break – in response to her obvious insults in Arabic – would sting for a long time. She had already found herself questioning if she _was_ a mindless follower and weak-willed.

"Do you think we can still be friends?" he asked.

"I think …. Yes, we can be … with a little time."

**o o o**

The Wonderland Company wasn't set to begin the regular season again until March, but The Carrollers made one special appearance on Valentine's Day, not at The Wonderland (where romantic movies were showing all day), but in the dining room of the building where the performers lived. They called it the Lonely Hearts Club Lounge for the evening.

Winter had been tough on Cillian's hip, and he'd handed over direction duties to a woman named Katya. Under her leadership, The Carrollers practice lacked the joviality and friendliness Cillian brought to the group, but no one could deny she was an excellent taskmaster. They'd never learned their harmonies so quickly. They wouldn't be dancing due to limited space on the stage.

"Are you nervous?" Blaine asked.

"You're the one with the solo," Kurt replied exasperatedly. "You don't have to ask me that every time before we step on stage."

"Oh, I know. But this is your first performance being broadcast live on the radio."

"What!"

Kurt craned his neck to see over the small waiting area to stage left. Two men were arranging booms and microphones throughout the risers to better capture the voices of the entire chorus. Sudden dizziness overcame Kurt, and he caught himself on the wall.

"Okay. It's okay. I can do this," Kurt murmured. "It's just like Nationals. Only better because there aren't thousands of people in the crowd and ESPN cameras everywhere."

"Nationals? ESPN? What are you talking about Kurt?"

"I sang a Celine Dion medley at cheerleading nationals last year."

Blaine's jaw worked for several moments. He was simultaneously trying to make sense of singing and cheerleading going together and picturing Kurt in a male cheerleading uniform. He resigned himself to saying the only thing he could think of in the moment.

"I don't even know what to say to that statement."

"What statement?" Nick asked, pushing through the crowd of singers into his correct position.

"Kurt was a cheerleader," Blaine blurted, and earned himself an intense glare for it. "I mean, he sang with cheerleaders. I don't know if he was actually a cheerleader."

"Were you actually a cheerleader, Kurt?" Nick asked with twitching lips.

"Yes. I did all the routines in practice and during games, and I provided vocals at pep rallies and competitions. Honestly, male cheerleaders don't do much besides lift the girls into the air and some dancing. It wasn't terribly fun when I wasn't singing. Believe it or not, I preferred being on the football team, and that's saying something because the kicker has nothing to do but watch the game."

Blaine and Nick's jaws hung open, and Kurt gave a haughty shake of his head. He would have flounced away for added effect, but they would be going on stage soon.

Cillian opened the show with his usual welcome and introduction. He greeted the audience in the room and everyone listening at home and in other towns and cities. As he spoke, The Carrollers filed onto the risers. Kurt stood on the second row beside Nick with Jeff behind them and Blaine and Hana up front.

"You all might think since you're at the Lonely Hearts Club Lounge that we're here to sing depressing songs to you about unrequited love or lovers scorned, but that's not what this show is for. Just because you don't have a special someone this Valentine's Day doesn't mean you won't have one next year. So tonight we're singing to all you hopeful singles."

Blaine had the first solo, a wonderfully saccharine rendition of _Silly Love Songs_. As the music began, and the voices behind him filled in the harmonies, Blaine tried to forget that his voice was going out to people and places he would never see, that this performance would play over radio stations for years. He sang his heart into the song, and tried not to sing all of the 'I love you's to Kurt.

Just as the opening number promised, The Carrollers performed more silly love songs than anyone in the audience could count. After an hour-and-a-half performance, they left the stage to applause from their audience and went to change out of their performance costumes in their apartments upstairs.

"You were amazing, Blaine!" Hana said, squeezing him around the waist. "You're a showstealer, and you'll be a lead soloist in no time! Of course, I'm really jealous I didn't have a solo this time, but –"

"Make that two," Kurt added.

"Three."

"Four."

Blaine played along even after they'd parted ways with Hana and went into their apartment. Since no one had a significant other now that Jeff and Hana had broken up, they'd planned on staying in and watching movies. The library only had scary movies left, so a _Final Destination_ marathon had been agreed upon.

Nick, Jeff, and Blaine had brought out the stashes of junk food they'd taken from the kitchen and thrown themselves onto the couches long before Hana pranced into the room with a bowl full of buttery popcorn and Dagny on her heels. They waited a solid three minutes before shouting for Kurt.

"Kuuuuuurt!" Dagny wailed. "Come on! Devon Sawa and Kerr Smith in the same movie!"

Kurt yelled back through his door that they should start without him. With much complaining in overly loud voices, Hana popped the VHS into the slot. Kurt didn't come out of his room until well after the funeral scene. Blaine did a double take when he did emerge into the common room. Instead of wearing his pajamas, he had put on a whole new outfit, and it looked brand new.

"Do you like it?" Kurt asked, twirling. "I designed it myself."

There was very little about the outfit not to like. It was classic Kurt, very edgy and high fashion, and it had clearly been tailored to his exact measurements. The vermillion was unexpected, but fitting to the holiday, and the fedora added a nice touch.

"The only downside is that it's going to clash horribly with my coat," Kurt said, casting his eyes on the burnt orange Burberry hanging by the door.

"Wait. You're going out?" Nick asked. "I thought we were going to watch all four _Final Destination_ movies?"

"Oh, yeah. It was kind of last minute. Christophe is taking me to Bella Notte."

Blaine felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He couldn't find his breath, and his vision swam from hurt and lack of oxygen. He kept himself together long enough to watch Kurt walk out the door to go on a date with another boy on Valentine's Day, and then he was out of his seat and racing for the door.

"Blaine!" Dagny shouted. "Wait!"

But he ignored her. He raced through the apartment building, mindless of the chill and his bare feet. He needed to be someplace far, far away from everyone. Someplace where prying eyes and ears wouldn't see him crack in half and his anguish laid bare.

He'd done this to himself. He knew that, and he accepted it, but it didn't make the pain any more bearable. It made everything ache worse knowing he could have stopped it from happening. If only he'd been a little more selfish, it would be him at Bella Notte with Kurt. Maybe they would have held hands across the table and shared a goodnight kiss.

He felt physically ill thinking of Christophe having those moments with Kurt. Blaine raced for the kitchen and into the small restroom across the hallway. He crashed through the first stall in just enough time to drop to his knees and empty his stomach. He laid over the porcelain, his shoulders shaking and a chill spreading through his limbs until he heard the door creak open.

"Hello? Are you all right in – Blaine!" Ciara gasped. "Blaine, sweetheart, are you ill?"

Blaine hastily wiped at his mouth and cheeks with the sleeve of his pajamas. He hadn't realized he'd been crying until she'd intruded on the moment. He let her lead him over to the sink and press a hand to his forehead after he rinsed his mouth out.

"I'm not sick. I'll be fine."

"Oh, I don't think you get off that easily. Come on, lovey."

She pulled him into the empty kitchen and sat him at a stool. A glass of apple juice was thrust into his hands, and Ciara tipped the bottom of the cup up until he'd drained it.

"Now, I know you're practically a grown man, but you've lived under my guardianship for enough years, mister, that I think I deserve to know a little of what's going on in your life. So you just go ahead and tell me why you've been crying and being sick when there's naught physically wrong with you."

Blaine fiddled with the empty heavy tumbler. He'd already had this conversation out with Dagny, and he trusted her opinion. Still, he knew Ciara wouldn't let me leave until he coughed up some information.

"Is it right to not tell someone how you feel about them to protect them?"

Ciara considered for a long moment. "It's subjective, but I suppose you don't want to give me any more details, so I'll guess we're talking about a boy you like and not an 'if you can't say anything nice' situation."

Blaine nodded.

"Then I'd say that if you're withholding to gain power, it's not right. Relationships can't work if you're not on equal footing. But if you're doing it because the other person isn't available, then I suppose it could be right. Removing yourself from a triangle or a bad circumstance can be a noble thing. But as I say, Blaine, this is all subjective."

"You know who I'm talking about," he countered hotly.

"I do. But I've lived enough years to know that what appears to be happening and what is actually happening are sometimes two very different things. I'll not start jumping to conclusions at my age, not even for you, Blaine Anderson."

"I really like Kurt, but I can't be with him right now. It wouldn't be right to start a relationship when he's emotionally vulnerable."

Ciara stayed silent for a long time.

"All right, Blaine. You go ahead and be as stubborn as you like. I know teenagers won't be talked down by a septuagenarian. God knows how many conversations I've had with Dagny and Nick. Their situation, like yours, is easily solved, but you kids all insist on causing yourselves pain. I should ban those damned teen soap operas you all love to watch so much. But I'll say this. Just because a choice is hard doesn't automatically make it right."

She held up her hands to signal she was absolving herself of his choice and made to leave the kitchen. Blaine spun on his stool and called after her.

"Are you saying I should just forget about Kurt's grieving process and jump into a relationship with him? He's lost every person he's ever loved. I should just encourage him to get over it as quickly as possible, to forget them and move on with his life? Because that sounds really, _really_ selfish to me."

"You're far too old and wise for me to tell you what to do," she said, and she obviously reveled in the irony. "The simplest solution is the one that's staring you in the face. Dagny missed it too, the silly girl."

Blaine let her go. A frown pulled at his lips and brow. He hated when his she spoke in riddles and left him to figure out a situation on his own. Ciara had clearly set one for him. Blaine had to ask himself: what could fix everything for himself and Dagny?


	24. Seventeen

**SEVENTEEN**

In Kurt's opinion, the date on Valentine's Day went really, really well. They had to wait almost two hours for a table because Bella Notte was one of the only romantic restaurants in town, but the prolonged wait gave them a lot of time to get to know each other. Christophe was polite and gentlemanly as always, and when Kurt asked if they could switch to French so he could brush up on the language, Christophe had complimented his impeccable pronunciation.

At the end of the night, Christophe had asked if Kurt wanted to go out again, and of course Kurt said yes. He was relieved to be asked after doing the asking on Valentine's Day. They made plans for Friday, but that was four days away. So on Tuesday, Kurt found himself engaging in a ritual he had seen many times at McKinley, but never participated in himself: the switching of the lunch tables.

Christophe ate lunch every day at a round table with Camille and Ando, which left an open seat for Kurt. He'd told Nick earlier in the day that he wouldn't be eating at their usual table, and the other boy had grimaced, but said he'd pass the word on. Kurt thought it was childish to put so much stock into where one sat in the cafeteria, especially since he spent every other waking moment with his friends.

He set his tray with his grilled chicken salad down on the table and eased into the seat beside Christophe. Parrish passed just as Christophe leaned over and kissed Kurt on the cheek, but surprisingly didn't say a word or spare them a glance.

"We have had altercations," Christophe said, following Kurt's eyes. "He lost. Badly."

That's all that was said about that, but Kurt pondered it long after they moved onto other subjects. Parrish, like Karofsky, was the typical bully who only went after those who were weaker than him. Unfortunately, Kurt hadn't figured out how to handle Karofsky either. Aside from witty retorts, which really did nothing to avert a punch, he'd been floundering trying to deal with the bullying there too.

"Are you going to cheer for us on Saturday?" Ando asked.

Camille smacked him on the arm. "Why? Are you going to cheer for us on Sunday?"

"What's going on?" Kurt asked after swallowing his mouthful of food.

"Typical actor," Camille said, with a playful eye roll. "You know The Wonderland isn't the only place to go for entertainment on the weekends."

"We have a stadium where we put on games every weekend," Christophe explained.

Kurt blinked at them. He'd honestly never even thought about sports until he'd learned Christophe was an athlete. He supposed not everyone in Here showed up for The Wonderland Company's performances every week. There were close to seven thousand people in the town, and The Wonderland only seated three hundred.

"Oh, I ... A _stadium_?"

"Proportionately smaller, like The Wonderland. But, yes, a stadium," Ando answered. "Saturday is a football game, and Sunday there will be tennis. Camille is the favorite to win the tournament on Sunday."

The sports talk went over Kurt's head. He knew American football terminology from watching with his dad, but he'd never been much into soccer or tennis. Kurt listened politely and asked a few questions when he got too lost. The athletes clearly loved talking about their sports as much as the performers their shows.

"See you later, Kurt," Ando said, picking up his empty tray and Camille's. They left the cafeteria hand-in-hand, thus answering the question of which part of the GSA acronym Camille represented.

"I did not want to ask in front of my friends and pressure you, Kurt. But I would very much like you to come to the game on Saturday. I believe I would play better knowing you are cheering for me."

Kurt felt a blush tainting his cheeks. He pretended to straighten the hem of the gray sweater along his thighs until he could manage to answer without giving a stupid toothy grin.

"Of course I'll be there."

**o o o**

Kurt rose early on Saturday morning to begin getting ready for the game. He felt groggy not having a full nine hours of sleep because he'd been out late with Christophe the night before. They'd gone to the bowling alley and gotten into an epic showdown with Ando and Camille in the next lane. Kurt had never figured himself for the type to enjoy bowling on anything but the Wii, but the challenge brought out the competitive, ambitious streak in him.

A roller rink was attached to the bowling alley, and Kurt had spent a few hours teaching Camille how to skate. He liked that Christophe took their date unexpectedly turning into a double in stride, and that he didn't seem to mind Kurt spending a good deal of that time keeping Camille upright. During the slow skates, Kurt told Christophe about the last time he'd gone rollerskating, which led to him sharing stories about New Directions.

It also made Kurt curious about why the performers never did anything but watch movies when there were so many other fun, albeit prosaic, things to do in Here. The sudden change of pace exhilarated Kurt, and he was going to suggest his friends venture into other parts of town sometimes.

"You're up early for a weekend."

Kurt blinked sleepily at Blaine and stifled a yawn. He was sitting on the couch with the giant laptop balanced on his thighs and several library books scattered around him. From the collection of titles, Kurt suspected he was working on a comparative literature paper. He padded into the bathroom, but left the door opened while he sorted his crèmes and hairstyling products from the shampoo and conditioner. (He'd long ago stopped trusted Nick and Jeff to get the right brands).

"Hmm. Yeah. I'm going to the soccer game today. Christophe wants to show me around the stadium before the game."

When Blaine didn't say anything for a few minutes, Kurt poked his head out of the bathroom. The laptop still sat on Blaine's thighs, but the cursor blinked steadily at him, and his fingers weren't on the keyboard. A deep frown pulled at his brow, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Something wrong, Blaine?"

The other boy turned sharply to face Kurt with a fierce, stormy expression on his face. He practically threw the laptop across the couch and climbed to his feet.

"Yeah, Kurt. Something's wrong. We're supposed to be friends, but right now, we're more like roommates passing in the night. The only time we actually see you is when we're walking to school or home."

The unexpected accusation caught Kurt off guard. He wasn't sure what to say. He knew he'd been spending more time with Christophe, but it had only been a week since they'd starting dating. It wasn't like he'd blown off his friends or cancelled plans.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way, Blaine, but I don't think I've been spending excessive amounts of time with Christophe. I've seen you guys after school, and, yes, we're doing our insane amount of homework or rehearsing for the play, but we're still together the whole time."

Blaine crossed his arms over his chest. The frown still pulled at his brow and lips when he looked away and down.

"You're American. You don't even like soccer," Blaine said petulantly.

"It's not about liking a sport or not. You hate ballet, but you're always there to watch Dagny dance. It's the same thing."

"But we always spend Saturdays together."

"Things have changed, Blaine. I have a boyfriend now, and I'm going to be spending time with him. He's not a performer, so that means I won't always be around, but it doesn't mean that we're not friends."

The whole conversation with Blaine, and his lack of response to Kurt's final statement, bothered Kurt while he got ready and walked to the stadium. Because the sports arena was on the other side of town, that gave his thoughts on the matter amble opportunity to stew.

The weather had started to change with the end of February nearing. No more snow accumulated on the ground, and small patches of cobblestone could be seen in places hit with the most sunlight. Kurt didn't feel frozen solid when he met up with Christophe at the stadium entrance, but his emotions roiled in his chest. He had thought up twenty different things he wanted to say to Blaine. Some he knew he shouldn't and others he thought would make his point more effectively.

"Good morning," Christophe said, standing up from the bench where he'd been waiting for Kurt.

He slid his gloved hands out of pockets and around Kurt's waist. A thrilling shudder raced up Kurt's spine at the sensation of having another boy's body against his own. Even through two heavy winter coats, he could feel Christophe's solid muscles. In a few hours, he would see that dark skin mostly unclothed and glistening with sweat. Kurt broke the hug abruptly at the unwelcomed lustful thoughts and what they did to certain lower portions of his body.

"Shall we start the tour?" he asked.

The stadium was a brown construct decorated in dark red, navy, and yellow painted ribbons. It was about the size of a high school football field, but with ringed seats instead of bleachers and a concourse for concessions and souvenirs like professional stadiums. Behind the top seats, the commentators' booth looked out over a bright green AstroTurf field marked up in white like a soccer field. Overhead, country flags fluttered like clouds from the rafters. At the west end of the field a giant, old fashioned manual scoreboard showed the score as 0 – 0, and beneath it, the exit to the locker rooms.

"You can wait for me here after the game," Christophe said.

He indicated a small lounge between the men and women's lockers rooms. The room had a number of comfortable-looking couches and a table with boxed snacks and a coffee maker. From the number of duffel bags shoved into corners, Kurt guessed this was the athletes' version of a green room.

Christophe had to go warm up with the team, which Kurt understood from his own pre-performance exercises, and left Kurt with Camille. She led him to the first row behind the team's field-side seats. While they'd been backstage – Kurt wondered if that's what it was called in sports – fans had begun to file into their seats.

"Is this a thing?" Kurt wondered. "Coming early to watch the teams warm up?"

Camille chuckled under her breath. "You're not a big sports fan, are you? Yeah, it's a thing."

The two teams playing today were the Lost Boys and the Gryffindors with seven members each of both genders. The Lost Boys, which was Christophe's team, wore hunter green kits with red stripes down the side. The Gryffindors wore deep red kits with gold stripes. The teams occupied half the field each and kicked the soccer ball around in incomprehensible drills.

"Christophe is a midfielder," Camille stated.

She tried to explain what that meant, but Kurt hadn't played soccer since middle school gym class and had never watched a game. He painted on a placid smile and nodded, pretending to know what she was talking about.

The game started an hour later, after the teams had gone back into their respective locker rooms for a pep talk, or so Kurt assumed from his own brief experience on the football team. They came onto the field to rousing cheers from both sides of the stadium. Kurt jumped up from his seat and cheered when the Lost Boys ran onto the field.

Much of the game was lost on Kurt, who didn't understand the maneuvers the players used to pass the ball or why a majority of the fans screamed "red card!" when two players bumped into each other. All he really understood was that Christophe was spectacular on the field. He ran with long, loping sides and handled the ball with his feet like a dance. He sweated even more than Kurt had imagined, and his soaked jersey clung to the defined muscles in his arms and chest.

But this game was dead boring otherwise. At halftime, the score remained 0 – 0. At least in American football there was the assurance of seeing guys in tight pants jumping on top of each other.

The halftime show was the most bizarre spectacle Kurt had ever seen. Instead of cheerleaders or a performer or just a dancing mascot, the commentators came down onto the field and did standup comedy. No one else in the stands seemed to find his spectacle the least bit odd, which made it even more surreal from Kurt's perspective.

" … never going home again!" one of the commentators cracked.

The audience applauded and laughed, but Kurt failed to get the punch line to the sports joke. Camille rolled her eyes at him and shouted over the crowd about baseball. As the laughter died away, Kurt heard a sound so familiar and yet so alien to this place he hardly recognized it. It was a purring rumble that reminded him of the tire shop and handing tools to his dad and the sharp scent of grease.

"Phantom sound! Phantom sound!" the commentators/standup comics shouted. "The first person to name the phantom sound gets a meal at Clyde's Sports Bar on us!"

"1967 Chevy Impala," Kurt said softly.

Camille repeated the answer at an ear-splitting level, but Kurt didn't know if she'd won the free meal or not. His answer was correct, but instead of putting him in a celebratory mood, it created a pit in his stomach. How long had it been, he asked himself, since he'd thought about his dad?

Kurt gathered from Camille's lack of enthusiasm that the Lost Boys had not won the game. He couldn't summon the energy to feel too horribly about it. It meant he wouldn't have to sit through a rowdy post-game celebration and try to fake happiness. His somber mood fit in much better with the atmosphere around the low key dinner the team shared in the back room of the sports bar.

**o o o**

Over the course of the next week, Kurt spent more of his free time alone than with either group of his friends. He was ashamed that he'd forgotten to worry about his dad. No amount of rehearsals or dates with his boyfriend or term papers should ever take priority over his father. They'd been down that road before, and it was almost too late before Kurt figured out his priorities again.

But his sudden withdraw prompted the dreaded "Did I do something wrong?" conversation with Christophe. The end result had Kurt storming out of Christophe's house and crying the whole way back to The Wonderland for rehearsal.

"But you have been here almost four months, and you will never see him again. You should stop thinking about him, should you not?"

As formal and polite as Christophe was, he clearly did not understand the concept of being close to family. By his own admission, he'd hated his parents with a passion and used his education as an excuse to escape to France. But what upset Kurt most was that the one person he felt would truly empathize with him was currently angry at him for spending too much time apart. But Kurt needed time away from Blaine.

He hated it, but his feelings for Blaine hadn't gone away. Even spending time with another very attractive gay boy didn't help at all. Kurt wanted, more than anything, to be able to talk to Blaine about what had happened at the game, but he couldn't because that would mean bringing up Christophe, which would only make Blaine more distant.

"You're late," Yunjin said when Kurt raced into the auditorium.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Get on stage. We're at your scene."

Rehearsal went terribly. Kurt was hurt by what Christophe had said and frustrated that his distracted mind couldn't focus on his lines. Yunjin gave them yet another lecture on professionalism with an added threat of failure if they didn't pull their act together. She stomped off muttering about hating Ciara for talking her into directing a student play.

"Maybe we should do some team-building exercises?" Hana suggested. "Like trust falls."

"We wouldn't have to do team-building exercises if we still felt like a group of friends having fun and creating something wonderful together while we hang out," Blaine said.

All the guilt and hurt and frustration of the past week snapped. Kurt rounded on the other boy and threw his script aside. It hit the stage with a sharp sound in the silence of the auditorium. Everyone turned from packing up their things to see what was happening on stage.

"If you have a criticism, Blaine, then you should say it directly to me and not to the whole group," Kurt snarled.

Blaine's jaw went slack, and his expressive eyes filled with hurt and confusion. Kurt scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Really? You're whipping out the puppy dog eyes right now when you should be apologizing to me?"

"You're the one yelling at me for no reason," Blaine said, his voice wavering on the edge of yelling himself. "And, for the record, I was talking about another situation going on in our group that maybe you would know about if you actually spent time with us anymore."

Angry red splotches appeared on Kurt's pale skin. He felt like the burning of it like a slap against the face, and it fueled the boil of his anger.

"Wonderful defense. Thank you for proving _my_ point."

"What are _you_ doing right now? Besides being a giant hypocrite and proving _my_ point?" Blaine demanded angrily.

"We're supposed to be friends, you said. Well, friends don't turn their backs on each other when they're needed most. So what am I doing? I'm calling out a selfish, self-important boy who can't stand the fact that I'm close to someone else!"

Blaine's eyes went wide with outrage, and red tinges appeared on his cheeks and ears.

"Well, if that's how you see me, then let me be honest with you too. You're a shallow and dependent little boy who ditches his friends as soon as he gets a boyfriend. You haven't been able to figure out a single damned thing for yourself since you got here. You think you can't be happy unless you're in a relationship, and a relationship is the last thing you need right now!"

"Oh? Pray tell, all mighty and all knowing one, since you're the fount of all wisdom, what _do_ I need right now?" Kurt snapped.

"You know what? Forget you, Kurt! Just practice your damned lines so we don't all fail!"

Blaine drew the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and stormed off the stage. Kurt departed stage right, the opposite direction of Blaine. The rest of the cast remained rooted to their spots, jaws slack and exchanging nervous glances.

"What did they just fight about?" Amara ventured to ask.

"Hana and Jeff," Nick said, throwing glances at his two friends. "Sort of."

Kurt and Blaine refused to speak to each other or be in each other's presence for the next week.


	25. Interlude: Hana

**INTERLUDE**

The airplane taxied down the runway and lifted off the tarmac with a lurch. For most of the passengers on this flight, the routine jaunt from Riyadh to Amman was an inconvenience to be tolerated with opened newspapers and laptops.

But for Hana El-Amin, it was not routine at all.

As Saudi Arabia vanished beneath a sea of clouds, she wondered if she would ever see her homeland again or if she would become one of thousands of expatriates living in the United States for the rest of her life. Her father's job at the oil company brought him to America several times a year, so she would see him again. But what about her mother and brothers?

Her uncle had worked hard to become an American citizen, and the family was thrilled he and his American wife were sponsoring Hana. But she hated the idea of leaving her family. Everyone knew her as Ibrahim's daughter. When she was too outspoken or bold, the older women would smile fondly and look at each other and say, "What else do we expect from Ibrahim's daughter?"

A rough spot of turbulence shook the airplane, and Hana's fingers tightened around the armrest until her knuckles shone white. Her skin felt clammy beneath the heavy black clothes her mother had warned her not to remove until her connecting flight left Amman. Her father scoffed and told her to rip it all off the moment she left Riyadh and never look back.

"You are going to have more freedom than you could ever imagine, my little one," Ibrahim said. He spoke in English, which he had forced Hana to learn. "Remember this, Hana: freedom without wisdom is only a gilded cage. Keep peace in your heart, wisdom in your head, and your feet on solid ground, and you will have a wonderful life."

Hana cried pitifully when her father had handed her over to the flight attendant who would see her safely to Amman. The kind Jordanian man had spoken to her in English as they passed through security together and on to the departure gate. He was impressed such a small child knew such big English words. They played the alphabet game – saying a word starting with each letter of the English alphabet – while he strapped her into her seat.

Now he was gone handing out drinks to passengers and fetching blankets and pillows. He only stopped by once during the two hour flight to ask how she was doing. She had run out of tears long ago, so she nodded and he left her in peace.

Hana knew her uncle and aunt would be kind to her. They always sent beautiful birthday cards with funny American money tucked inside. She never exchanged it for riyals. She liked looking at the strange green men on the paper and looking for the hidden owl in the corners. But she missed her family already and the thought of living without them forever made her stomach ache.

A warm breeze caressed her face in the skywalk between the plane and airport in Amman. She didn't know the English word for wind tunnel, but her father had taught her the concept for her science fair project last month. She's won first place with the experiment they had worked on together. She wondered if her uncle and aunt were good at science like her father. They were both professors, but she couldn't remember what they taught.

The disembarking passengers jostled her little body as she made her way to the gate where a new flight attendant – an American one – would greet her and help her find her American Airlines plane to Chicago. A strange scent carried down the wind tunnel, like freshly clipped grass, but sharper and more pungent than any grass Hana had ever smelled.

She stepped over the metal joining between retractable skywalk and airport, but when she looked up from hopping over the crack, she was not in the Amman airport. She stood on a high hill overlooking a quaint little village under a sky full of the fluffiest clouds she'd ever seen. The air here felt cool against her skin and everything around her was lush green.

The little girl reverently whispered the first word that sprang to mind, because this place was the opposite of the dry Saudi desert that her parents wanted her to leave. Surely, this was the Garden they intended for her to find in America.

"_Jannah_."

* * *

><p><strong>Translation Note:<strong> As I have said before, I don't speak Arabic, and I'm not Muslim. If I have used/translated the word _Jannah_ incorrectly, please let me know that in a review or PM so I can correct my mistake. I want to represent Hana and the culture she grew up in as accurately and respectfully as possible.

_Jannah_ = Paradise, the Islamic concept of Heaven


	26. Eighteen

**EIGHTEEN**

"We have to do something," Hana said.

She leaned in low over the breakfast table and indicated the two empty seats. Nick and Jeff paused chewing for a moment, and Dagny halted with a broken off bit of muffin halfway to her lips. She frowned at her friend.

"So that's why you dragged me out of bed at this ungodly hour? To plan an intervention?"

Hana scowled at the older girl.

Kurt and Blaine had skipped breakfast with the group for the past eight days because they couldn't stand to look at each other. Thursday movie night had been a disaster when Kurt announced he had a date with Christophe, and Blaine had spent the rest of the night sighing moodily. Yunjin had gone from wanting to rip out her hair during rehearsals to wanting to throw things at her students.

"I'm serious, Dagny. We have to do something. We all know this fight between them is completely pointless, and it's hurting all of us."

"I don't think we can do anything, Hana," Nick said. "If they're going to work this out, it'll have to be in their own time."

"Fine. If you don't want to help, then just go stick your head in the sand! Dagny, I'm counting on you getting through to Blaine. I'll talk to Kurt."

"Whoa. Hana … I'm with Nick on this one," Jeff said quickly. "We shouldn't get into this. Let them work it out on their own."

"I know you want to help," Dagny said kindly, "but guys don't resolve their problems the same way girls do. Sending in mediators is only going to make it worse."

Hana crossed her arms over her chest and slumped backed in her chair. She refused to speak to her friends until they were halfway to school, and even then she only wanted to argue her point more. Dagny had stayed behind, of course, but Nick and Jeff had to deal with her nagging until the first hour bell rang.

"What has gotten into her?" Nick asked, gazing at Hana's retreating form over his shoulder.

"Long story," Jeff sighed. "Just … let's make sure she doesn't go talk to Kurt or Blaine. The cold shoulder thing is getting old, but it's better than the alternative."

"Agreed."

**o o o**

An early spring thaw settled over Here in the middle of the first week of March leaving patches of walkways clear and a constant drip off rooftops. Patches of melting snow piled on top of hedges and walls like mounds of icing, and clumps of dead, brown grass pockmarked the hillsides around the town. The temperature hadn't risen much, but the sun shone brightly in a clear sky and the usual wind blowing in from the low mountains in the distance had quieted.

Blaine hated this time of year, and the ugliness of the thaw only made his mood fouler. A miscalculated footstep around a corner in the College Quad sent his shoe into an inch of squelching mud. He cursed at the splattered shoe and hobbled off to the side to scrape the muck off the sole as best he could.

"Let's put you where you belong, homo," Parrish snickered.

Blaine watched the scene as if in slow motion. Parrish's hands slammed against Blaine's chest, and with his weight balanced on one foot, he didn't stand a chance. He went sprawling backwards onto the muddy ground. He felt it shifting beneath him, sucking him in further, and splashing onto the back of his head. Parrish and his gang walked away laughing raucously and thumping each other on the back.

With a disgusted grimace, Blaine pulled himself out of the mud. His black jeans and unfastened winter coat were covered in thick, grayish brown mud, and flecks had splattered onto his plaid button up too. His face flooded with heat when he saw onlookers snickering at his humiliation, and he turned away to hide his shame from the rest of the student body. If he thought things couldn't get any worse, he was wrong, because coming up the walkway, hand-in-hand were Kurt and Christophe.

Kurt stopped short when he saw Blaine covered almost literally head to toe in mud, and then his eyes flickered to the laughing students. He dropped Christophe's hand and rushed forward.

"Come with me," he murmured.

Taking Blaine's hand, Kurt pulled him past the onlookers and into the nearest restroom inside the school. Something about the bathroom was definitely off, and it took him some time to realize there weren't any urinals on the wall.

"A girls' bathroom?"

"It's much cleaner," Kurt sniffed.

The taller boy shuffled through his messenger bag. Two textbooks and color coordinated notebooks were piled on the ledge under the mirror before Kurt found what he was looking for: a small soft plastic travel bag. Blaine saw miniature bottles of shampoo, hand sanitizer, hairspray, and a nail care kit inside. He also had a full change of clothes and a towel inside the bag.

"Why do you have all of this stuff?"

Kurt turned on the hot water tap and let it run while he came around behind Blaine, eased off the mud covered coat, and carefully removed the still clean bowtie and his glasses.

"Dumpster tosses and Slushie facials don't come without a mess. I've learned to be prepared for anything." He tested his fingers under the water and tempered it by spinning the cold tap. "Duck your head. I'm going to wash your hair. Don't turn your head or you'll hit the faucet."

Blaine did as directed and let Kurt work his fingers into the muddy curls. Brown water swirled in the porcelain sink and disappeared down the drain. When it ran clear, a sweet floral scent filled his nose, and Kurt massaged shampoo into his hair. Not since he'd been a little boy had anyone washed his hair. He'd forgotten how wonderful it felt to have another set of hands working on his scalp. They didn't talk at all as Kurt cupped water over Blaine's sudsy hair, and he kept his eyes shut tightly against the soap.

"Your hair is clean, at least," Kurt said, twisting off the taps.

He wrapped the towel around Blaine's head and used the corners to wipe off rivulets of water down his face and neck. Blaine took over when most of the water had been soaked up, and Kurt backed off with a bashful smile. He busied himself with getting the clothes ready, although Blaine didn't need anything more than the stack handed to him.

"I don't have any gel, so we'll have to make do with hairspray. I think I can make it work. You should get dressed first though."

Blaine went into the handicapped stall to put on fresh clothes. They were plain by Kurt's standards, dark wash skinny jeans and a green-and-white striped long sleeve shirt, but probably he wouldn't tote around his favorite clothes every day anyway. They worked just fine for Blaine.

"I don't even know what to do about this coat, though," Kurt worried.

"Toss it," Blaine called back. "It's too much work to have cleaned. I'll use a March blue to get a new one."

When he came out of the stall, Kurt had removed his fluffy taupe pashmina and wrapped it around Blaine's neck. It was still warm and smelled of Kurt.

"You're going to be cold without your coat," he explained.

It wasn't really that cold inside, but Blaine didn't want to give back the little bit of Kurt he'd been given permission to have.

"Where did you find a pashmina at this time of year? Scarves are gone from the warehouse in a second."

"I made it. I've gotten on good terms with Ayo, and she let me know when someone found wool."

"So you really are making your own clothes?"

Kurt smiled and nodded. He ran a comb lightly through Blaine's curls, and although he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, Blaine let him carry on. Like having his hair shampooed, this felt wonderful. When the tangles were gone, Kurt began arranging and re-arranging curls until he was satisfied with their exact placement. Blaine wanted desperately to laugh at the way Kurt's tongue poked out between his lips when he concentrated, and the way he scolded the curls around Blaine's temple under his breath because they wouldn't lay right. When everything was in place to his satisfaction, Kurt coated Blaine's hair with the spray.

"Hopefully it won't frizz when your hair dries. I think your hair is short enough that you'll be okay, but it might be a little fluffier today than usual."

Blaine slipped his glasses back on and the world came into focus. Now that the time had come for them to part and go to class, Blaine remembered that he was supposed to be mad at Kurt for calling him selfish and self-serving, not to mention flaunting his handsome, sophisticated boyfriend around.

"Kurt, I know we're in a weird place right now, but I want to thank you for being here when I need you."

Kurt's eyes flicked upwards to take in Blaine's reflection in the mirror. Blaine thought he saw a hint of panic in Kurt's wide eyes, almost like he'd forgotten they were fighting too.

**o o o**

As Blaine sat in his literature class later listening to the discussion about _Our Mutual Friend_ going on around him, his memory called up snippets of conversations and moments he and Kurt had shared since November. Mostly, though, he pondered the angry words Kurt had spat at him: selfish and self-serving.

Despite their fight, Kurt had dropped everything to help Blaine. If that wasn't the definition of loyalty and altruism, Blaine didn't know what was. Wouldn't everyone seem selfish in comparison to Kurt? If he was being honest with himself, there were selfish undertones to his hesitance to have a romantic relationship with Kurt. He didn't want to get hurt and lose his friendship with Kurt, but that had happened anyway.

"You're free to go, Mr. Anderson."

Blaine started at his professor's voice and saw that he was the only student left in the classroom. He mumbled an apology and hurried out of the room. The high school students were making their way to the cafeteria for lunch, and Blaine threw himself onto the bench at the usual table.

"Rough morning?" Nick asked.

"You have no idea."

Blaine stood to go stand in line for food, but before he left the table, a winter coat was placed on the gray Formica. He turned sharply to see Kurt walking away with a faint smile cast over his shoulder.

"It's too cold for you to walk to the warehouse without a coat, so I went on break."

Kurt turned fully and took his now customary seat beside Christophe. Blaine examined the coat. It wasn't what he would have picked out for himself, but he really loved it. It was a dark grey and double breasted with large, shiny silver buttons. There were pocketless zips along the chest and buckles on the shoulders and wrists.

"Not to say 'I told you so' or anything, but …" Nick said.

Hana threw a French fry at him.

**o o o**

"So you are friends again with Blaine," Christophe observed.

Kurt popped the top off the Ranch dressing container and drizzled it over his salad while he considered what he and Blaine were after today.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

"You are leaving school on break to go find him clothes at the warehouse halfway across town. You are leaving me standing in the courtyard while you run off holding his hand. You are spending all of first hour in a bathroom with him. But you're not sure if you are friends?"

Kurt's head snapped up at the sneering tone. Camille and Ando, who had been approaching the table and overheard, spun on their heels and went to find another place to eat lunch.

"It's not like that. You saw what happened with Parrish. He's bullying Blaine because he's gay, and I know what that feels like. I went through that alone, and I went through it with friends. It's never fun, but it's the tiniest bit better knowing you're not alone."

"Jonas is bullying him because Blaine is weak and will not stand up for himself. You should not indulge his acceptance that bullying must be part of high school for gay teens. You should leave him to figure this out on his own."

Kurt bristled. He had said as much to Blaine before, but hearing someone else say the very same thing raised his hackles. His food sat forgotten on the table. He fixed Christophe with the glare Mercedes lovingly called his "bitch face."

"This is the second time you've told me drop a personal relationship. I've had enough of that, Christophe. Friends are there for each other. No matter what they've said or done to each other, they're _there_."

"So you _are_ friends with Blaine," Christophe asked, a frown pulling deeply at the corners of his mouth.

"I guess I am," Kurt said, with a dry laugh. "No one has ever been there for me the way he has been, and that kind of bond doesn't go away because he hurt my feelings when he was angry. The fact that you don't understand that scares me, because where are you going to be when I need you? I'm starting to think you'll just disappear when things get tough."

Kurt stood up from the table and pulled the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder. He haughtily stared down his nose at Christophe.

"Thank you for this, Christophe. It's given me a moment of clarity. Blaine is my best friend, and he always will be. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find him and work out our disagreement."

Kurt felt eyes on him as he flounced out of the cafeteria with his head held high.

Despite his declaration, Kurt did not go find Blaine. The middle of the school day was not the opportune time to talk, and he knew it. He would wait until this evening between dinner and rehearsal to ask for a quiet moment with Blaine to talk.

As he sat through the rest of his classes, Kurt pondered the many revelations he'd had today. He was beginning to wonder if Blaine might have had a point after all. Christophe was charming and handsome, and Kurt had a good enough time when they were together. There must be a reason, though, that Kurt felt no desire to share his secrets with Christophe or cuddle up next to him or sing flirty songs to him.

The final bell released the students from their classes before Kurt had finished copying down the Portuguese conjugations on the blackboard. He stayed behind for a few moments to note all the information in his notebook.

"There's no need to rush, Kurt," Professor Hirsch said with a laugh. "I'm not going to erase anything on you. Are you worried about Portuguese?"

"A little. I've never even heard the language spoken before today."

The linguistics professor shifted through his bookshelf and pulled out an old battered textbook with a faded red cover. He passed it to Kurt.

"Latin in the basis for all the languages we study in this class. You're at a disadvantage having never studied it. If you can't make sense of the book, you might ask Blaine to help you. He's the best Latin student I've ever had."

Kurt tucked the book into his bag, thanked his professor, and fled before any more outside reading could be shoved on him. He came up short in the hallway. Christophe leaned against the opposite wall with a box of Swiss chocolates in hand.

"I am sorry, Kurt. I hope you will accept that I am not a perfect person. Nobody is, especially not a Frenchman."

The apology sounded sincere, and the self-deprecating humor was lovely. But all the same, it bothered Kurt that Christophe had not said what he was sorry for. A voice in the back of his mind wanted to ask if Christophe even knew what he'd done to upset Kurt and if he had any plans to change.

As beautiful as the words were, and as much as Kurt had dreamed of the day when someone would buy him presents, he couldn't deny that picking out a coat for Blaine gave him more joy than receiving the chocolates.


	27. Nineteen

**NINETEEN**

Blaine reclined in his bed reading _Our Mutual Friend_ and trying to glean why Charles Dickens was considered a great author. He stifled his fifth yawn in three-and-a-half minutes. He eyed his closed door over the top of his book. No one else was home, but he could watch one of the VHS tapes Nick had borrowed from the library or listen to the radio. Another chapter, he told himself, and then he could take a break.

Two doors – the common room and a bedroom – opened and closed. With another person home, focusing on Dickens became even more difficult, but he kept reading the small type on the yellowing page until Kurt began to sing. Blaine let the novel drop onto his lap, and listened with a huge smile as Kurt poured emotion into the song from _Gypsy_.

"_Everything's coming up Kurt! Everything's coming up Hummel!_"

Normally, Blaine would laugh affectionately at the personalized lyrics, but there was nothing funny about the anger and pain lacing Kurt's voice. He bookmarked his place and slid off his bed. Their friendship was still tentative, but for the last several days they'd been spending more time together and getting along fine. Even if they'd still been furious with each other, Blaine would have gone to check on him.

Before he could so much as cross the small bedroom, frantic pounding rattled his door. Blaine's heart skipped when he saw Kurt leaning against his doorframe. Color had drained from his face, and shock turned his eyes round as saucers. He trembled all over and gaped at Blaine, as if Blaine had been the one furiously knocking on his door.

"Kurt, what's wrong?"

Blaine guided Kurt into the bedroom and down onto the edge of the soft green comforter. Kurt stared blankly at the place where desk met wall, and it reminded Blaine of November when Kurt stopped speaking. Fear turned Blaine cold all over.

"Please, talk to me, Kurt," he begged.

He didn't know if people in shock should be touched or not, but he needed to bring Kurt back around and find out what had happened. If Blaine could fix it, he would. He realized now that as angry as he'd been at Kurt, they'd never stopped being best friends. He would go to the ends of the earth for Kurt. Blaine took one of Kurt's hands in both of his.

Kurt started and twisted his body sideways. Looking into those ethereal blue-green eyes, Blaine saw the dam waver and break. Tears spilled down his cheeks and sobs wracked his body. He resisted at first when Blaine tried to pull him into a hug, but then latched his arms around Blaine's neck and buried his face in his shoulder.

Blaine breathed deeply and tried to keep his own panic at bay. His hands ran over Kurt's back in soft, soothing patterns.

After Kurt's tears had run out and his sobs quieted, he sat back and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Blaine stretched to take the box of tissues from the nightstand. Kurt took his time drying his cheeks and blowing his nose, and Blaine had to bite his tongue to keep from pressing for information.

"M-my sing-ging was a phantom sound. The only person who heard me sing that was my dad."

Kurt's voice wobbled at the end, and he squeezed his eyes shut to keep fresh tears at bay. Blaine's heart dropped. The moment Blaine had been dreading for weeks had come at last.

"I don't understand how he could forget _that_ song. I sang it because I felt abandoned and not good enough for him. He'd just started dating Carole and spending time with Finn, and I was worried that since he had a chance to have a straight son he – Oh god! Oh my god!"

Kurt gaped at Blaine, and his cheeks turned bright red. He flapped in his hands in the universal way that screamed, "I can't breathe!"

"Breathe in through your nose, Kurt. Okay, good. Now exhale slowly. Good. That's really good, Kurt. Again."

Blaine repeated himself and breathed in time with Kurt until the other boy had calmed down enough to take air into his lungs again. He didn't realize he'd been rubbing Kurt's back under afterwards, and he removed his hand reluctantly.

"He's moved on with his life," Kurt stated flatly.

He lost the battle against his tears. Twin trails leaked out of his red-rimmed eyes and down his blotchy cheeks.

"I don't think any parent who loses a child the way your dad lost you could move on in four months, Kurt. Especially not considering how much you mean to each other."

"He just forgot the most important song he's ever heard me sing!" Kurt argued. "This is exactly what happened after my mom died. One day, I was standing in front of the CD tower, and I couldn't remember if her favorite song was _Hey Jude_ or _Let It Be_."

"I get why you're upset, Kurt," Blaine started. "We want the people we love to remember and cherish everything about us. But is it such a bad thing that your dad forgot a time when he hurt you, however accidentally that was? You're such a compassionate person, Kurt. I know you wouldn't want him to be miserable. You want him to remember the good times you had together, right?"

Kurt nodded. "But you don't understand, Blaine. After he heard me sing _Rose's Turn_, we had this amazing talk. He told me I didn't have to change for him, that he loved me exactly the way I am. I really got it then that he doesn't care that I'm gay. I'm his son no matter what."

"That is amazing, Kurt. I don't know if I ever would have had a talk like that with my dad. But, Kurt, you didn't hear that conversation as a phantom because he hasn't forgotten it. He forgot a song, Kurt, but not why you sang it or how it brought you closer together."

Kurt's eyes flicked upwards to Blaine's. A tremor ran through him as he tried to suck in a breath too quickly through his tears. Blaine rubbed at his back again.

"Thank you, Blaine. You're right, of course. But there's still this sinking feeling in my gut. I know it's a good thing that he has Carole and Finn, just like it's a good thing I have you, but everything feels so wrong with our lives happening separately."

"I don't know if that feeling will ever go away, Kurt. I don't have that feeling, but I think Jeff probably does, and Dagny has a different kind of sinking feeling. I think we all cope in our own way. But what I can tell you, Kurt, is that I will always be here for you. We've only known each other for a couple months, but I feel like I've been looking for you forever."

They didn't say much after Kurt's tears dried, but they spent all evening sequestered in Blaine's room leaning against the headboard with their shoulders pushed together on the narrow twin mattress. When Nick and Jeff turned in for the night, Blaine pulled the comforter up over them. There was no discussion about Kurt going back to his room to spend the night alone or setting the alarm clock for school in the morning.

They agreed without words that they would be staying home together until Kurt found a way to live with the sinking feeling neither thought he would ever be rid of.

**o o o**

"I'm not doing the catatonic thing like last time," Kurt declared. "I'm not ready to face the world right now, but I'm not wasting any more days."

"I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that. You really scared me last time."

Kurt and Blaine had slept until 9:45 that morning and completely missed breakfast and the cleanup afterwards. They had the kitchen to themselves, and Kurt set himself to making a dish too complicated for Ciara to serve the whole company: Eggs Benedict.

Blaine seemed to think Kurt needed a great deal of room to stir the boiling water into a whirlpool and poach the eggs, so he leaned against the island and kept vigil over the toasting English muffins while Kurt worked at the stove.

"I know I did, and I am sorry about that. Can you pre-heat the skillet for the Canadian bacon?"

Blaine scrambled to help however he could. Cooking had relaxed Kurt, but as with all chefs it seemed like a fine line between enjoying their work and throwing pans at their assistants. He stood back again while Kurt finished poaching the eggs and moved onto frying the Canadian bacon and then garnishing their breakfast with Hollandaise sauce.

"Do you mind if we eat upstairs?" Kurt asked.

Blaine had no objection, so they took their plates upstairs and ate on the common room couches while the radio played an eclectic selection of songs. Kurt poked bits of his English muffin to Pavarotti through the thin bars of his cage. When Kurt whistled, the bird tweeted. Blaine had never seen anything so charming before.

"Oh my God!" Blaine cried, with a mouthful of food. "Is there anything you're _not_ good at? This is delicious."

"Thank you. I'm pretty worthless at dancing, according to Dmitri."

"Ignore Dmitri. He always yells at me for jumping on the furniture, but I say: if it's there, it should be used a prop. You should get Dagny to teach you ballet instead. She's a lot more patient and fun to work with."

Idle chatter faded away as they finished breakfast and piled the plates by the door. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes and listened to the end of the original cast recording of _I Dreamed A Dream_.

"Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to." After Kurt's nod, he went on. "Why did you come to me yesterday instead of Christophe?"

Kurt considered the middle distance, and a frown tugged at the corners of his lips. Blaine hated to see that expression back on Kurt's face, and he almost retracted his question, but Kurt answered before he could.

"I didn't know this at the time," he prefaced. "Coming to you, it was just … natural. But the reason is that I can't rely on someone who doesn't care about other people, so I didn't even think of Christophe. I came to you because I needed someone I could count on to listen and to empathize. And … I just … I needed _you_, Blaine."

"I have been such an idiot," Blaine said. "I let my jealousy get in the way of our friendship, and I am so sorry for that, Kurt. If you can forgive me, and if you give me a second chance, I promise I'll never let that happen again."

Kurt's head snapped up. "Jealousy? Because I wasn't spending enough time with you?"

"No. I mean …. No, Kurt, this is the wrong time. We should –"

"Blaine!"

He quailed under Kurt's unrelenting gaze. Dropping his head, Blaine carded his hands through his curls before sitting back against the sofa cushion again. When he started talking, his nervousness read in his voice as stumbling halts not normally present in his speech.

"Kurt, I've … I've had feelings for you since the first time I saw you. I backed off because you were hurting, and I couldn't take advantage of you like that. You needed a friend, and I was happy to be that for you. Then you … you thought you were better, and I didn't have the heart to tell you there was worse coming. I … didn't want you to hate me for being the bearer of bad news. I'm so sorry, Kurt."

Kurt sat far back in his seat. Confusion and hope played across his astonished face.

"But you said …." Kurt's eyes slipped closed for a second. "Oh. You never said what I thought you did. You said you didn't want to screw this up and you wanted to be friends." Kurt shook his head. "I don't know if I should want to slap you for being coy or me for inferring all the wrong things."

"You should want to slap me," Blaine joked softly.

"Probably." Kurt grinned. "Blaine, you have to promise to never do that again. I always want you to talk me. No matter how much you think it will hurt. I don't want unspoken words to come between us."

"I promise." After a pause, Blaine summoned the courage to ask, "Kurt, what about us?"

"We can't be together right now."

Blaine closed his eyes and looked away sharply. He deserved that answer, but it didn't hurt any less. His heart clenched painfully.

"Hey." Kurt's soft hand closed over his on the armrest. He smiled softly at Blaine. "I said 'right now,' silly. You're right that I shouldn't be making decisions while I'm emotional, and it's going to take a lot more than two hours in the kitchen to get past this new dark epiphany."

Blaine sat up straighter and scooted to the edge of his seat. "Y-you're saying …"

"There are some things I need do first. I have this to work through, and … I'm technically still Christophe's boyfriend. I need to speak to him, but I'm not ready to sit down with someone who I'm sure won't be able to sympathize. I need you to – "

"I can wait," Blaine rushed to say. "I'm not going anywhere. Just give me a sign when you're ready."

Blaine looked down at Kurt's pale hand cradled in his own, and because he couldn't do anything more right now, but had to show his affection somehow, he pressed his lips to the back of Kurt's hand. Kurt sucked in a breath, and Blaine's eyes trailed up his arm to the bright blue-green orbs gazing down at him.

They poured into that one moment every ounce of affection and devotion and admiration they held for one another. Without having to speak any words, they understood they had come to the start of something wonderful.


	28. Twenty

**TWENTY**

When Kurt and Blaine emerged from their voluntary isolation, Ciara and Cillian welcomed him back to their "family" with tight hugs and his favorite meal for dinner. Otherwise, no one treated Kurt any differently, and for that he was very glad.

"You two made yourself scarce," Kurt said to Nick and Jeff.

His roommates had kept a respectful distance and had never bothered Kurt and Blaine when they holed up in one of their bedrooms. Kurt had only allowed the indulgences of musicals and fatty foods to last for three days, but even three days away from the apartment must have been difficult for them.

"I was long overdue for a visit with my parents," Nick said," and I took Jeff with me."

Kurt had never heard Nick talk about his parents before nor did he think they came to his performances. He'd been preoccupied with his own emotional turmoil or too busy with homework and the myriad singing, dancing, and acting lessons. (And lately Ciara had been pushing him to start taking piano again too). That was very unlike Kurt, and he was ashamed he'd become so self-involved for whatever reason.

"How did it go?"

"They were pissed I haven't been home since September, so … not too well, but my dad is too concerned about appearance to start something with Jeff there."

"I felt like a human shield. It was terrifying, mate," Jeff quipped.

The three boys entered The Wonderland via the stage door and made their way to costumes where Kurt had stashed their outfits some time ago. He had a week before the performance to finish everyone's costume.

"I have to be honest, Kurt. I don't get this outfit," Nick said. He held up the hanger covered in plastic to protect the clothes. "Since when do angels wear trench coats?"

"Season 4. Go try it on."

Perhaps putting God and the Angels in suits was too on the nose given the title of the play, _The Creation of the World and Other Business_, but no one argued that feathery wings and halos would be infinitely worse. Jeff emerged from the dressing room in his rumbled, stained white suit looking every bit as befuddled as God was supposed to. With his loose tie and top buttons undone, Nick looked overworked and weary.

"Perfect!" Kurt cried, clapping his hands. "If only my own costume were this simple. And Hana is giving me fits! What girl won't wear a skirt that shows her knees? Her _knees_!"

The final week of rehearsals went wonderfully. Yunjin praised them every day for coming together as a team again and bringing everything they had to their performances. After dress rehearsal on Thursday, they all went out together, even Amara and Ebele, for a celebratory dinner at Bella Notte.

Another cold snap had blown in from the mountains. The melting snow had frozen into icebergs on top of mailboxes and garden walls, and a sharp wind howled through the streets. The teenagers wrapped their coats around themselves tightly and huddled together as they hurried to the restaurant.

"What are we doing for an after party?" Kurt wanted to know.

He passed the bread basket without taking a breadstick for himself. Jeff dropped one onto his plate despite his protests.

"If you don't take one, we'll use it and the leftover breadstick for an epic swordfight at the table," Jeff warned. "And we don't have plans for an after party. We usually unwind with a board game marathon or a movie."

Kurt bit off a chunk of breadstick grudgingly. "I love a rousing game of Sorry and Apples to Apples as much as the next guy, _but _there are a lot of things to do in this town that none of you ever seem to take advantage of."

"What do you have in mind?"

"It's not exactly a traditional after party, but I'm sure the adults will have one of those following their play next week. I think we should go ice skating before the ice gets too thin on Barrie's Pond."

A chorus of exclamations went up at the table, except for Hana who despised the cold. Amara and Ebele, used to the equally hot temperatures in Nigeria, however, had no qualms around ice skating outside in the dead of night.

"To Kurt, who saves us from utter boredom!" Nick cried, raising his drink.

Glasses full of Diet Coke and lemonade clinked together in the center of the table.

**o o o**

Blaine woke up Saturday morning to an insistent pushing on his shoulder. He rolled over groggily and swatted at the fingers poking him. Through sleep-clogged eyes, he saw Kurt's blurry face leaning over him.

"So you've taken to barging into my room whenever you like?" he asked gruffly.

The bed dipped where Kurt perched on the edge. He crossed his legs and hooked his linked fingers over his knee. He was already dressed for the day in the one of the outfits he'd designed and sewed himself.

"I'm too nervous to sleep," he admitted.

"So I have to get up too?" Blaine mumbled into his pillow.

"Yes! You're my … friend. You have to wake up and calm me down. I've never been in a play where there's an actual audience watching. The Winter Market doesn't count. I'm much more comfortable singing. A countertenor singing is impressive; a guy talking in a high-pitched voice is not."

"Kurt." Blaine flopped onto his back. "You're the best Lucifer I've ever seen. You're everything the audience won't expect, and they'll love the surprise of it."

"Yes, but can I maintain that through the whole play? I don't know." He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. "What if they get sick of me after a few scenes? Oh, God! It's too novel, isn't it? I've gone too broad, haven't I? They're going to hate me."

Blaine tossed off the covers and sat up. The sudden cold sent shivers up his spine.

"I'll get dressed, and we'll go have breakfast."

"Wow. What an amazing pep talk," Kurt deadpanned and rolled his eyes.

Blaine rolled his eyes too and grabbed for his glasses on the nightstand. He did a double take when the hands on his alarm clock came into focus.

"Kurt! It's 4:34 in the morning!"

"I told you I was nervous and couldn't sleep!"

"SHUT-UP!" The wall muffled Nick's voice, but his irritation read clearly. "Some of us can sleep. Or could until you two started bickering like an old married couple!"

After a pause, Kurt and Blaine burst into laughter. Every growl of frustration that filtered through the wall made them laugh harder.

"OH MY GOD!" Nick shouted at last. "SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Blaine bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from cracking up more. He scooted out of bed and grabbed his shower caddy. Kurt was chewing on his fist to stifle his laughter, and his shoulders shook with the effort of staying silent. Blaine fled the room before he started up again.

Forty-five minutes later, they sat at their usual table by the window with cups of coffee. Kurt had made Blaine chocolate chip pancakes, but ate only fruit salad and scrambled eggs himself. They didn't talk much as they ate and sipped their coffee. The early morning darkness put them both in a drowsy state that didn't need to be broken with chatter.

"What the in world is this? Two teenage boys awake before the sun?" Ciara asked.

"I couldn't sleep," Kurt explained.

"Then let's make you boys useful," she said, waving them into the kitchen.

The chaos in the kitchen for the next three hours gave Kurt a new appreciation for the meals he ate every day, although he thought Blaine got the worst of it. Kurt was actually allowed to make the sawmill gravy; Blaine spent the whole time elbow-deep in dishwater.

"I'm sorry my nerves subjected your skin to dish soap. Was it at least a gentle formal?"

"I don't know. The label was in Russian."

Kurt shuddered violently. He took Blaine's right arm and examined it for damage. The black hair on Blaine's arms felt rough against the pads of his fingers, but the skin beneath was smooth to the touch. Gooseflesh prickled on Blaine's arm. Kurt let go and looked away with a pink tint on his cheeks.

He hadn't spoken to Christophe yet, and he felt guilty sharing these intimate moments with Blaine knowing that. It wasn't that Kurt wanted to avoid the break-up, but that he couldn't deal with it right now. The pain of accepting life on the other side went on without him was still too fresh, and anything that might throw off his performance this weekend could wait until Monday.

**o o o**

At two o'clock, the students gathered backstage at The Wonderland to begin preparing for opening night. For Kurt, accustomed to learning choreography and harmonies fifteen minutes before going on stage, a full four hours of preparation seemed excessive, and yet the time melted away as if it had been fifteen minutes.

Before Kurt knew it, he was sitting in front of the vanity slathering pale foundation onto his skin and penciling thick black lines onto his lids. He checked his shiny red suit and skinny tie with shaking hands, and then went to check on the rest of the cast.

"Places!" Yunjin called at 5:45.

While she went out in front of the curtain to welcome the packed house, the six students waited in the wings. The student play was something of a warm-up act to the performance season. The long run of _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_ would start next weekend. After a winter of showing movies, The Wonderland had again become a stage, and it was clear the arts-loving population of Here was eager for it. They had filled every seat and aisle in the theater.

"I'm going to throw up!" Hana declared.

She bolted from her place and disappeared into the bathroom. Kurt broke away from the group and went in after her. Signs indicating a women's restroom had ceased to daunt him long ago. Hana was squirting toothpaste onto her toothbrush when he peeked inside.

"It's your first play too," Kurt stated. She nodded while she scrubbed her teeth. She looked pale and clammy beneath her stage make-up. "I threw up while the rest of you were getting your costumes from wardrobe."

"Really?" she asked around the toothbrush.

"Why does everyone sound so surprised by that?" he asked.

Hana mumbled something around the toothbrush that he couldn't understand, so she pulled it out of her mouth. She talked awkwardly to keep the foam inside of her mouth, but Kurt understood.

"You're a born performer. It's easy to forget you're seventeen and have no credits."

"I love how you can make a compliment sound like an insult. Come on. We have to get back out there. Yunjin is probably done talking by now."

Kurt had experienced many types of performances with New Directions, The Carrollers, and the Winter Market. Some had ended with applause or riots or hateful words. He'd never experienced, however, the wonderful phenomenon of hearing the audience laughing after he delivered a comic line or even just a comedic expression.

Knowing the audience was there, and that they had connected with his sympathetic villainy, filled him with wonder and excitement. Exuberance replaced nervous energy after the first laugh. He felt like he floated an inch off the stage from that moment until he joined hands with Amara and Jeff and the cast bowed to their audience.

"Bravo!" Yunjin cried happily, when they were backstage. "Arthur Miller would be proud to see his underappreciated play performed with so much enthusiasm! Now go greet your adoring audience."

The audience wasn't shying in telling the actors how much they enjoyed the play as they left. The Wonderland Company had filled up half the mezzanine and stayed after to talk to their students about the bold choices and modern twists they'd put on the material.

"Kurt, Jeff," Alejandro called in his thick Spanish accent. He motioned God and Lucifer away from the crowd and reached up to hold them both by the shoulder. "I'm casting you both in _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_."

Both boys' jaws went slack, and the director held up his hands to keep them from getting too excited.

"They're small parts – very small, actually. I need you to play servants. You'll have one line each, but mostly you're on stage to bring in and remove props. I want you at rehearsal on Monday after school. Okay?"

"Absolutely," Kurt gushed, at the same time Jeff said, "Brilliant! I'm in."

After the director had left, Jeff and Kurt gathered around with their friends to get ready for the planned after party at Barrie's Pond.

"We have more to celebrate than opening night, don't we?" Nick asked knowingly. "Congratulations. But it's hard not be jealous of you, Kurt."

"Jeff got a part too," Kurt said defensively.

"Yeah. After three years of student plays," Hana said.

Kurt watched them head backstage to change clothes with a frown. They didn't seem truly upset that they weren't invited to have a line and assist the props master, but Kurt had never been the object of envy before. He'd been told his voice was extraordinary, but no one ever wanted his strange vocal range for themselves.

"Are _you_ jealous?"

Blaine lifted his eyebrows. "Why would I be jealous? I'm happy for you, Kurt. You killed it out there tonight. You deserve a part, however small I'm sure it is," he added with a laugh.

"Thank you. You were pretty amazing yourself. I could totally buy you as the progenitor of humankind … you know, except for the having relations with a girl part."

"Are you saying my kiss with Hana wasn't convincing?"

"No!" Kurt hurried to say, before he realized Blaine was joking. Kurt knocked him with his elbow when Blaine started laughing.

**o o o**

When everyone had showered, dressed, and dried their hair, the cast exited The Wonderland through the stage door and made their way to Barrie's Pond. Dagny joined them at the corner of Broadway and Main, as did Amara's girlfriend and Ebele's boyfriend.

Barrie's Pond was not actually a pond; it was a low spot in Thomas Von Strauss's farmland that never produced yield, so he'd hollowed it out, planted trees around it, and let his daughters use it as a private swimming hole in the summer and ice skating rink in the winter. The Von Strauss girls had grown up and moved into their own homes long ago, however. Thomas tended not to care if others used Barrie's Pond for their own fun as long as they didn't trample his crops in the process.

A thin layer of blowing snow covered the barren wheat field. Patches of black earth and bracken peaked through the snow every few feet. The gibbous moon in the clear midnight blue sky cast pale yellow light over the world. A herd of deer scattered when they heard the teenagers' voices carrying on the wind.

"Somebody lace these up for me. I don't want to break my ankle," Hana said, swinging her skates back and forth. Nick grabbed them before the blades could do any damage.

"Sit down."

Hana cleaned snow off a wooden bench and sat down with her leg stuck out for Nick to take off her shoe and tie up the ice skate properly. Dagny and Jeff were already out on the ice doing some kind of energetic foxtrot on their skates. They were very good with the spins and jumps.

"Some spandex and sparkles and you'd be the next Gordeeva and Grinkov," Kurt shouted.

Dagny did three perfect _fouetté en tournant_ spins with a Cheshire grin on her lips.

"Now you're just showing off!"

She did another _fouetté en tournant_.

Ebele and her boyfriend – Miles or Milo or something like that, Kurt couldn't remember – glided onto the ice, and she immediately fell down. Amara's girlfriend, Elsie, helped her up and stayed close by. Kurt edged onto the ice carefully. He had been ice skating since he was little, but it had been a long time. He found his groove quickly and made several turns around the pond.

"You're pretty good," Blaine said, coming up beside Kurt and flipping to skate backwards.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I don't have a horse or a ruler."

Blaine blinked at him twice, and then burst into laughter. He stumbled over a rut in the ice and would have tumbled backwards, but Kurt caught him around the waist. Blaine's laughter faded, and he rested his gloved hands on Kurt's upper arms.

"Just when I think I've got you figured out."

Hana's piercing shriek turned heads, but everyone could see she was just fine. Predictably, she'd lost her footing, but Nick had caught her before she hit the ice. Her sprawled legs scrambled for purchase, and Nick bent halfway over to keep a hold on her torso.

"You're fine!" Nick kept saying.

When he finally got her up on her feet, he skated backwards with her hands in his. Hana made him drag her around the pond because she was too scared to lift her skate.

"Why didn't anybody bring a battery-powered iPod dock?" Dagny called. "It's too quiet."

The singers among the group needed no excuse to provide an a cappella song, and on the night when they'd just staged a fantastic play, there was only one song they really wanted to sing at the top of their lungs.

"_We raise our glass_," Blaine started, "_You bet your ass to ... La Vie Boheme_."

All ten teenagers, singers or not, shouted back, "_La Vie Boheme!_"

There was no distinction between parts after that. Everyone wanted to sing every part. They shouted their favorite parts, the ones most adults would shudder to hear coming from their lips, so that their song sounded like a melody with emphatic cries of: _"… to dildos! … mucho masturbation! … Bisexuals, trisexuals, homo sapiens! … to sodomy! … to S&M!_"

The only lyrics they sang without frantic giddiness behind them were the lines:

"_Why Dorothy and Toto went over the rainbow_

_To blow off Auntie Em._"

Their bellowing song brought the attention of Von Struass, however. Lights flipped on in the house some five hundred feet from the pond before they had finished the song. Ice skating in the middle of the night was allowed, but disturbing the peace was not. They scrambled to the banks with frantic laughter punctuating moments of seriousness as they fumbled to remove skates and shove on shoes too quickly.

Jeff still had on one skate when they started their retreat from the pond. He hobbled behind his friends with a lopsided loping stride, one leg four inches longer than the other, until Kurt doubled back and helped him into his shoe. They took off at a dead run, still cackling madly, when they heard Von Strauss yelling at them across the field.

"_La Vie Boheme!_" Kurt cried out defiantly, and everyone echoed, "_La Vie Boheme!_"

* * *

><p><strong>Credits:<strong> Lyrics to "La Vie Boheme" from the musical RENT by Jonathan Larson


	29. Twenty One

**TWENTY-ONE**

"Where have you been?"

Kurt cringed at the angry voice coming up behind him. He stepped aside to let other students pass. Christophe followed him to the side of the hallway with a frown marring his lips. This wasn't the ideal place to do this, but Kurt could hardly ignore his questions until the end of the school day.

"I had some personal things come up, and I needed a few days to myself to sort out my feelings."

"You have been out of school since last Tuesday. And so has Blaine."

The accusation stung because it was so close to what had actually happened, but it also came dangerously close to the last fight they'd had and supposedly resolved.

"Blaine is my best friend. He was there for me, yes. If you were worried, you could have come over to check on me."

"I tried! That crazy blonde dancer wouldn't let me upstairs!"

Kurt bit his lip to keep from smiling. He knew how protective Dagny was of Blaine, and it touched him that her caring extended to himself as well. But now wasn't the time to laugh. He had something very important to say.

"Listen, Christophe. I don't want to get into that, okay? This isn't easy for me to say, but while I was gone, I realized some things. I don't think you and I are right for each other."

He said it as gently as he could, but like all breakups it sounded harsh and cruel. Christophe's jaw flexed, and he turned his face away for a long moment. Traffic in the hallway filed past on their way to first hour, but Kurt and Christophe stood like statues by the windows.

"Is this because I did not force my way past Dagny to come see you? Or because I did not skip my games this weekend to see your play?"

Truthfully, it had relieved Kurt that he hadn't shown up for the play, but had he still considered Christophe his boyfriend, it would have bothered him immensely that he couldn't miss an after game party to watch one of Kurt's shows.

"No. It's nothing like that. I did a lot of thinking this past week, and – "

"Did Blaine help you _think_?"

"I didn't cheat on you," Kurt snapped. "I realized that I need someone more compassionate."

"Your defensive tone does nothing for your argument," Christophe fumed. "You have always had a thing for Blaine, and obviously he has changed his mind about you this past week. You should not have started dating me until you were over him. This is not my fault."

Christophe walked away without waiting for an answer, but Kurt wouldn't have been able to give a suitable one anyhow because he was absolutely right. Kurt had used Christophe so he didn't feel lonely, and in the end, it had only made everything so much worse.

Kurt slumped against the wall with his head hanging and tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

**o o o**

"Rough day?"

Kurt threw himself into the chair next to Jeff in The Wonderland auditorium. Alejandro paced around the stage choreographing the actors' steps and ordering the crew to rearrange the set according to his blocking. He hadn't noticed his two new extras had shown up.

"I broke up with Christophe."

Jeff stayed silent for several moments. "Honestly, I don't know what to say. I think that's a good thing considering the way you and Blaine have been acting, but I kind of sense it might be a bad thing."

"It's good."

"Oh. Uh, good then."

Kurt rolled his eyes and mouthed "boys" when Jeff wasn't looking. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes watching Alejandro direct the actors around the stage.

"So are you and Blaine together now?"

"No."

"Oh, yeah. Starting to date him the same day as a break up wouldn't look too good, would it?"

"It's not that. It's complicated, but I feel like we've been in a relationship for four months already. We didn't think it was a good idea to make it official when I'm still so emotional. We've said that we're going to be together, but not until I'm ready."

"Are you? Emotionally, I mean. You're acting like your normal self."

Kurt considered. He had been thinking about his dad and friends more in the past week, and the lonely ache without them still throbbed somewhere deep inside him, but he hadn't cried again or fallen into deep bouts of depression like in November. He missed them terribly, and he always would, but this week felt like the climax of a story. He knew how it would end, and the knowing was a bittersweet comfort.

"No, I guess I'm not. But it still hurts terribly, and I feel like I'm not quite where I should be yet, but I don't know how to get there."

"Welcome to my life."

Kurt turned sharply to Jeff. He found it incredible that his carefree friend lived with this raw ache every day and never let it show, that anyone could become so accustomed to this kind of constant pain that it filled their days like a background noise.

"What gets me most," Jeff went on, "is that I can't imagine any happy ending for my family. After my dad passed on, my mom started drinking a lot. It was up to Johnny and me to take care of our sisters. We're twins, but he's a bit of an idiot and lazy." He gave a dry laugh. "A normal teenager, that's what Johnny is. They relied on me, you know? I took care of everything for them, and without me …. I don't know if Johnny has it in him to step up, so I've got these nightmares of mum choking on her own sick and my family split up into foster homes."

Jeff stared at the interlocked fingers in his lap while Kurt stared at Jeff. He was glad his friend wasn't looking, because no one wanted pity, and that's all Kurt could express right now. He wanted to say everything would work out, but he honestly didn't know if it would.

When he'd first realized he couldn't go home, Kurt had run through nightmare scenarios of his own, but they had been replaced with more hopelful scenarios somewhere along the line. When he thought of his dad now, he imagined a Hudson-Hummel wedding, Finn moving into the basement, and a long life, happy but for their missing Kurt.

"You've got a thought."

Jeff peered over at Kurt through his blond fringe. Kurt nodded pensively. Hearing Jeff's story, he imagined the rest of his life consumed by this longing in his chest, and he compared it to the happiness he wanted for his dad, Carole, and Finn, the same happiness they would want for him. It was time for Kurt to let go and begin healing.

"Will you help me with something after rehearsal?"

"Of course, mate."

**o o o**

With _Cat On A Hot Tin Roof_ set to open on Saturday, the whole company gathered for the dress rehearsal on Friday night. Kurt offered to take over meal preparations since Cillian and Ciara were needed to keep everything running smoothly on the business side of things, and the rest of the teenagers in the house volunteered to help out however he needed in the kitchen. The ratatouille was simple enough for everyone to cook, and although Kurt would have preferred to make something fancier for his first turn as chef, the dish was a hit with the company.

Alejandro tapped his water glass while a butter knife and climbed to his feet.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," the director began his speech. "And let's all thank Kurt Hummel for making our dinner much better than last year."

"Shut your yap, Caselas!" Caroline snapped. "You're dumber than a jumping bean if you expected more than PB&J before dress rehearsal!"

The director ignored the crotchety old woman and went over the details of the show. He explained where the cameras would be and on which dates, everyone's call times, and some additional help that they needed backstage. Once all the business was out of the way, he went on to the tradition Jeff had told Kurt about: the speeches.

The speeches were a time for everyone involved in the play to share funny anecdotes and heartfelt moments that had happened during the course of planning and staging the play. It was a way for the rest of the company to hear about what their friends and colleagues had been doing and to feel like a part of it.

Ciara read a "lost in translation" list that had the international cast crying with laughter, and Caroline gave a cranky and affectionate speech about young whippersnapper directors not following tradition. Several of the lead actors expressed their frustrations with each other at times, and ultimately how much they loved working together.

Jeff prodded Kurt with his elbow when the speeches lulled for a few seconds. Shakily, Kurt climbed to his feet. The company watched him walk to the front of the room with polite smiles. He offered a sheepish smile back.

"I only have one line in the play – for which I am very grateful," he said, turning to Alejandro. The company chuckled lightly. "So I know it might not be traditional for me to get up here, but I hope you'll indulge me this once. As most of you know, I heard a phantom sound of my own voice a few weeks ago. My wonderful friends helped me pick myself up and go on, like I know my family and friends on the other side would want me to. During those few days, I shared a story about my mother's passing. She died when I was eight, and over the years, I've forgotten little things about her no matter how hard I try to hold onto the memory. One of those little things is her favorite song. I thought it was either _Hey Jude_ or _Let It Be_, but I was wrong. This was her favorite song."

Kurt nodded at Jeff, who pushed down the play button on the cassette player. The simple melody came out of the speakers a little faded from the age of the tape, but all the more beautiful for its imperfection. Kurt began singing.

"_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly._"

Kurt couldn't stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks as he sang, and he didn't want to. He cried for everyone he'd lost and for the pain they felt losing him. He cried because he'd forgotten this was his mom's favorite song until his dad reminded him. He cried because even after her death, his mom could still give him guidance when he needed it.

The company did not clap when Kurt finished the song, but everyone he passed on his way back to his seat touched his arm or shoulder tenderly in silent support.

Blaine found breathing difficult and tearing his eyes from Kurt impossible. He watched this incredible man slip into the seat beside him with wide awestruck eyes. The corners of Kurt's lips turned up a fraction, and he placed his hand over Blaine's resting on the table.

Blaine didn't know if the rest of the company had cleared out or if he was experiencing one of those moments, but he swore later he and Kurt were alone just then. He felt weightless, like the world swayed around him, and he floated free.

"In case you were wondering," Kurt said, "that was me letting you know that I'm ready."

Then Blaine's other hand was on Kurt's cheek and Blaine came half out of his chair and pressed his lips against Kurt's and it was the most perfect thing Blaine had ever felt. Like standing on stage for the first time, like a butterfly kiss when you're blue, like coming home.

When they parted, Blaine blinked at Kurt's wonderment and turned away to hide his own overwhelming emotion. He felt heat in his cheeks and a silly grin on his lips. Kurt's hand tightened over his, and he tugged him up out of his chair and into the hallway because the room was _not_ empty. Three dozen odd onlookers had seen their first kiss. Blaine's first kiss ever.

"Oh, God. Kurt, I –"

Everything was Kurt. His lips moving against Blaine's for the second time, their palms touching and fingers intertwined, the scent of Kurt's musky, citrusy cologne all around, the pleasant aftertaste of vegetables and mocha, the pressure of the slight upward angle required to kiss Kurt, the presence of another body so close but not touching.

When they parted, Blaine's lips felt raw and swollen. He wondered if their second kiss hadn't been more like twenty kisses and he'd lost track. His chest heaved like he'd sprinted up a flight of stairs, and his head felt dizzy.

"I can't believe you kissed me in front of everyone," Kurt said, but his smile couldn't be hid even when he chewed on his bottom lip.

"I didn't realize they were there," Blaine said in his own defense.

The shy playfulness slipped from Kurt's face, and he was there again slotting his lips between Blaine's, and Blaine had never been so glad to be a couple inches shorter than Kurt, because everything fit together just right. This time they were touching, arms wrapped around necks and waists and bodies pushed together as they ignored the soreness of their kiss-bruised lips.

"I never want to stop kissing you."

The words fell from Blaine's lips the moment they parted again, and their faces were still so close together his mouth brushed against Kurt's when he talked.

"Me either. And I wouldn't, if I didn't have dress rehearsal in fifteen minutes."

It took all of Blaine's will power to remove his hands from Kurt's waist and take a step back.

"We'll talk tonight."

"Do we have to?"

Kurt's playfulness, and his flirty wink, sent an exciting thrill racing up Blaine's spine. He must have looked exceptionally goofy grinning his answer back because Kurt laughed before shuffling backwards into the dining room again.

Blaine stayed in the hallway for a minute. He might have pinched himself a couple times.

* * *

><p><strong>Credits:<strong> Lyrics from "Blackbird" by The Beatles


	30. Interlude: Nick

**INTERLUDE**

"No."

As everyone in the Duval household knew, 'no' was Nicholas Duval Senior's favorite word. Hell, everyone in Here knew it too. The Chief Administrator had a way of shooting down even the most basic request. Sometimes Nick thought his dad said no even when he wanted to say yes out of habit.

The difference was, the other Administrators could veto his reactionary decisions when he got too out of hand. There was no one in the Duval household to challenge him, because Penny Duval always backed down and Nick had been raised to not object.

Until now, because Nick would not take no for an answer this time.

"Why not?"

The room fell silent save for the iron beeping to signal that it had reached optimum temperature for smoothing the wrinkles out of Nicholas's work shirts fresh from the dryer. Penny's hand hovered over the handle, and Nick turned his eyes away from the scene. He hated how his family resembled a 1950's sitcom from the other side. He would scream if his dad said anything resembling "father knows best."

"Why would you even want to do it, Nick?" Nicholas demanded. "You're top in your year in science and math. You're on track to become a chemist or surgeon, which are actually worthwhile professions."

Nick dug his socked feet into the navy carpet roughly. He vented his frustration on the worn threads and kept his cool while addressing his father.

Earlier this week, Nick had noticed flyers going up around school. Blaine Anderson of The Wonderland Company was recruiting young hopefuls to play his twin brother in _The Boys from Syracuse_, a musical based on Shakespeare's play _The Comedy of Errors_. Nick was good at math and science, but he loved literature and drama.

Ever since his seventh grade English teacher had picked him to read aloud Romeo's part in class, he'd dreamed of being part of The Wonderland Company. He wanted to woo Juliet on her balcony, cry to the heavens to let him be not mad, speak to the ghost of his father, have fairy dust in his eyes. Now was his chance! He could sing well enough for a student musical, he thought, and they'd give him training at The Wonderland. He even looked sort of like Blaine, minus the curls and darker complexion.

"Because I'd rather do something I love than be a mindless scientists hating every minute of my life. And performing isn't worthless, dad. The arrivals would go crazy without The Wonderland."

Nicholas huffed, but couldn't disagree. He'd arrived in the days before Cillian had a full company, and on the nights without a show or a sporting event, the citizens turned to their own pursuits, the results of which often ended up on his desk as police reports.

"Fine. Give me the permission form," he groused. "But if you're accepted and go live in their dorm, you're to come home every night for dinner and spend every weekend here."

Nick almost rolled his eyes as he handed over the slip. His dad worked such long hours, and his mom went to so many dinner parties and garden parties and cocktail parties they wouldn't notice if he was gone for months at a time.

"My audition is tomorrow."

But his parents didn't hear. His mom had gone back to pressing her husband's shirts, and his dad and turned back to the battered paperback novel.


	31. Twenty Two

**TWENTY-TWO**

The run of _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_ through March and into April went wonderfully, and for three shows every weekend, Kurt and Jeff said their one line a piece and moved props around stage. Their friends stopped coming after the third show when they insisted it wasn't necessary to sit through the same play multiple times to hear them speak seven words and exit stage left.

"I feel like I should be there, though, to support you. I feel guilty sitting at home when I know you're performing," Blaine confessed.

Kurt didn't try to hide the silly toothy grin he _knew_ made him look like an idiot. Nick and Jeff didn't try to hide their disgust. They made kissy noises on their way out the door to their music lesson.

"Don't violate the couch while we're gone!" Nick called in a carrying voice.

Dagny was rarely around for the next couple of weeks. The dancers took over The Wonderland following the conclusion of the play. She was dancing lead in _In the Upper Room_, and as one of the few dancers trained in contemporary ballet, much of her time was spent instructing the classical ballerinas and modern dancers how to blend their styles.

The students were required to show experimentation in all performing arts, but staging a two hour dance show required a specialization none showed an inclination for. They were told their dancing would be judged during the musical they would put on at the end of the month.

"But we just finished a play," Kurt said. "Isn't there a couple months breathing room?"

His assumption that a performing arts company worked like a high school show choir competition season earned hearty guffaws from everyone in the dining room who heard his question. Kurt received a crash course in the hectic schedule of The Wonderland Company when the director of their musical, Declan Foster, introduced himself and instructed them to have a musical and casting completed by the end of the week so they could begin rehearsals the following Monday.

"But we seriously just finished a play," Kurt muttered.

"Off season is January and February," Nick summarized. "Play in March, dance in April, musical in May, orchestra in June. Off season in July and August. Circus in September, opera in October, modern music in November, and you already know about December."

"We put on a circus?" Kurt asked excitedly. He twirled two butter knives between his fingers. "I have the perfect act for a circus."

"We've never had a butter knife twirler," Hana laughed. "I think we should find you some sai swords before September, though."

**o o o**

Kurt woke up the first Friday in April to Pavarotti trilling in his cage by the window. Buds had appeared on the bare tree branches, and warm sunlight shone through a sky full of fluffy white clouds. The air in the room felt uncomfortably warm, and Kurt kicked off the covers.

When he came out of his room to take the first turn in the shower, he found Blaine sitting on the couch reading _Pride and Prejudice_. He was already dressed for the day and wearing the gray bowtie Kurt had picked out for him last week.

"Moving onto better literature, I see."

"Finally."

Blaine grinned at Kurt's disheveled hair and the way his boyfriend tried to smooth it down self-consciously. Even though they'd been living in the same apartment for months and had seen each other looking their very worst, now that they were dating, they'd both developed a strange new self-consciousness about their appearances.

"Did I oversleep? You're never up before me."

"Yes, actually, but that's my fault. I kind of … came into your room and turned off your alarm clock?" Blaine said, wincing. "It sounds so much creepier saying it out loud."

"So what's the occasion for skipping class this time? And should I be worried that I'm not bothered by skipping anymore?"

"No," Blaine laughed. "If we were in college, which we kind of are, we would skip class all the time. My dad used to complain about his students doing it. The occasion, Kurt, is that it's a beautiful early Spring day outside, and I thought we could take advantage of this nice weather and … go on our first real date."

Kurt felt his mouth doing that embarrassing toothy grin again, and Blaine lost the fight to tame his own wide grin into something less goofy.

While Kurt busied himself in the bathroom and dressing in appropriate yet stylish attire for a picnic, Blaine went down to the kitchen to get their meal put together. He already had the red and white check blanket, wicker basket, and battery powered radio set out on the counter. Ciara clucked her tongue at him for skipping school, but also wrapped two sets of utensils in linen napkins for him.

Kurt was waiting in the foyer with two light jackets when Blaine came out of the kitchen with the picnic basket. He looked stunning as ever, but the happiness shining through his bright eyes made him radiant.

"It's a little chilly. I thought you'd want this."

Blaine put down the basket for a moment, and Kurt helped him into the light black Ralph Lauren jacket. The shorter boy cocked his head to try and see his boyfriend from the corner of his eye. Kurt's hands smoothed down the fabric around his shoulders.

"You just helped me into my coat," Blaine said, unable to hide his delight.

"It seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do."

The playful answer came with a brief caress of his upper arms and a light kiss dropped on the skin behind his ear. Blaine sucked in a shuddering breath. Kurt had quickly picked up on what Blaine liked best when they kissed, and what Blaine liked were Kurt's soft hands and strong fingers.

"So where are we going for our picnic?" Kurt asked. He held the door open for Blaine.

"The lake."

Blaine knew that Kurt had hardly ever been out to the lake except to go finding, and it was still a little cool for large groups to gather on the grassy shores. It was the perfect place for a sweet, semi-private first date.

A light breeze picked up on the outskirts of town as they left the walkways and mounted the hill hiding the lake in the next valley. The sun had burned the morning dew off the grass, but the melted snow had softened the ground. A few families had ventured out to the waterside and sat in clumps on bright beach blankets or neutral-colored spare blankets from home.

Instead of picnicking on the hillside, Blaine beat a path to the boathouse and spread the blanket in the empty flower garden surrounding the deck. The packed ground was firmer, and the wooden addition hid them from prying eyes, but still offered a clear view of the deep blue lake and empty wharf.

"Is this okay?" Blaine asked nervously.

From the momentary sadness on Kurt's face, he could tell Kurt knew why he'd picked this spot, but it passed with a bittersweet smile. They didn't know if the families were homophobic or open-minded, but neither boy wanted to risk ruining their first date.

"It's perfect. Let's eat!"

"It's only 10:45," Blaine laughed.

"And you deprived me of breakfast. Come on! I'm starving."

They settled onto the blanket and flipped open the top of the basket. Blaine had packed all the picnic essentials: turkey sandwiches with just tomato (Kurt's favorite), pasta salad, devilled eggs, fruit salad, and two slices of chocolate cake. While Blaine set out the food, Kurt poured two glasses of green tea from the thermos.

Kurt peered into the depths of the basket curiously, but Blaine snatched it away quickly.

"Later. Or, well, actually I planned it for now, but since I deprived you of breakfast."

Kurt rolled his eyes playfully and took a bite of his sandwich. The whispering of the wind through nearly bare tree branches and choppy water and children's laughter filled the next moments of comfortable silence while Kurt and Blaine tucked into their early lunch.

"Thank you for this, Blaine. It's a really wonderful."

"Are you kidding? Tomatoes on turkey is disgusting."

"Don't do that. Don't deflect. I mean it. No one has ever put this much thought and effort into making me happy."

Blaine picked at the crust on his turkey sandwich, which had been rid of the tomato since he'd unwrapped it.

"I'm sorry. I'm just not very good at romance." Kurt gave a dry, disbelieving laugh and gestured at the spread on the blanket. "Anyone can watch a romantic comedy," Blaine added glumly.

"Well, lucky for you, your boyfriend happens to love romcoms."

His smile and exaggerated sassy head shake made Blaine laugh and lifted his spirits. He felt so _right_ with Kurt. Even the stupid, cheesy things he did and said seemed okay as long as they elicited a grin from Kurt, and these days, everything he did made Kurt smile.

"Do you happen to like sail boats?"

Kurt frowned around a mouthful of pasta salad. "Is this some kind of strange Here version of Derek and Meredith's ferry boats thing?"

When Blaine's cheeks colored up, Kurt burst out laughing. The curly-haired boy muttered something about "long tradition" and "never mind," so Kurt scooted across the blanket and laid his head on his boyfriend's shoulder casting his best approximation of Blaine's puppy dog eyes up at him.

"I could love sail boats."

With that reassurance, Blaine took the two heavy wax paper sheets out of the bottom of the picnic basket and handed one over to Kurt. He inspected the waxy surface of the shiny green paper and weighed it in his hand. Blaine had a deep turquoise sheet.

"That's a pretty color," Kurt commented, and then bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when Blaine snuck a guilty peak at his eyes and then looked down quickly. "How is this like a sail boat?"

"Origami. I'll show you the folds."

Kurt's deft fingers mimicked Blaine's, who glanced over at his boyfriend's progress every few seconds and then struggled to concentrate on the next fold. All the attention to his hands was giving Kurt permanent high color on his cheeks, especially since he knew why Blaine kept staring. Honestly, though, he'd barely touched Blaine anywhere below the shoulders other than his arms. He had such nice arms, especially when he held Kurt close and they were flexed and defined with those prominent, masculine veins descending down the soft insides of his forearms.

"And just like … Kurt?"

Kurt plastered on a smile and made the final fold on his sail boat. It looked decidedly lopsided, and the folds were mismatched enough that white gaps from the underside of the paper peaked through. It fell over the second he removed his hands. Blaine chuckled at his exaggerated pout.

"Let me fix it."

"So what is this all about?" Kurt asked, while Blaine repaired his botched origami boat.

"Well, we each make a sail boat, and then we push them into the lake. If they stay afloat for the length of our kiss, then we'll be together forever. Or something really silly and superstitious like that. I can't believe I'm making you do this."

"No. It's sweet and _romantic_."

Blaine cast him a long-suffering glance and went back to fixing Kurt's boat. He remade the boat so quickly and so well he'd obviously done this hundreds of times before.

"So … have any of your sail boats ever lasted that long?" Kurt tried to sound casual and failed spectacularly. He cringed at the jealous note in his question and his voice.

"Uh, Kurt. I've never told you that I've never been anyone's boyfriend, have I?" Kurt's eyebrows shot up. "No, I guess not. Well, I haven't. I've never made a sail boat _with_ anyone before. I've made plenty. In my room. Alone. Which is really pathetic."

"It's not. I once sang a duet alone."

"I'll bet it was fantastic."

"It really was." Kurt's self-satisfied smile fell. "I really regret it now. Not _Le Jazz Hot_," he clarified, a little frazzled while he tried to collect his thoughts. "I mean that we could have been each other's first boyfriends if I hadn't been so …"

Blaine shifted on the blanket and pressed his forehead to Kurt's temple. Kurt had only to turn a fraction and their lips brushed while Blaine answered. It sent shivers racing up Kurt's spine. Their eyes darted between eyes and lips.

"What matters now is that we're together. I'm not jealous, Kurt. You and I have something more, something better."

"You were my first kiss," Kurt confessed.

"You were mine," Blaine whispered back.

Their faces tilted and lips met in a soft, but intense kiss. Sunlight painted the inside of Kurt's eyelids peach, and the world fell away into a rush of wind and a heartbeat in his ears. A wet tongue traced his bottom lip, and Kurt parted his lips to welcome Blaine into his mouth. Their tongues moved tentatively, and Kurt touched the slightly stubbly skin along Blaine's jaw with his fingertips. The kiss turned intense and possessive and shocks of want shot through Kurt's body. He loved the hand on the back of his head pulling him in, the tongue exploring his mouth, the high-pitched whine it all wrought from his throat.

Blaine was gone too soon. His forehead rested against Kurt's as they panted for breath with hands still on each other's necks and shoulders.

"Come on."

Blaine took Kurt by the hand, and they ran along the tree line on the southern rim of the lake around to the long extension of the dock protruding into the water like they had raced through the greenhouse on the day they'd met. Their feet thundered against the wooden planks, and their breaths came in gasps.

Blaine's head darted around. One of the families had departed, and the other two were flying kites together. He gestured for Kurt to lay down with him on the dock, and they lowered their origami sail boats into the frigid water.

"Ready?" Blaine asked.

Kurt nodded, and they pushed their boats forward with their fingertips. The blue and green paper boats dipped and bobbed on the choppy lake surface. They kissed brokenly, still a little winded from their run and the excited rush of being in the presence of the boy they were crazy about, and pulled apart with sweet nonverbal acknowledgements of the awkwardness in the tilts of their heads and sheepish smiles.

Their eyes darted out to the lake and the two little boats, against all odds, still weathering the storm, cresting waves, and gliding forward on the wind. Sometimes the water pushed them backwards and turned them sideways, but they righted themselves and continued on their voyage never separating.

They kissed again, sweetly and lingering, until they remembered the families that would tire of flying kites soon and retreated to their safe corner of the lake shielded by the deck.

"How childish would it be to play cloud castles right now?" Blaine asked, collapsing backwards onto the blanket.

Kurt eased down next to his boyfriend. Their hands searched each other out, and their fingers twined together.

"Not at all. When I played this game with my mom, we always had a prize. Like a tea party in the garden for whoever found the princess castle first."

Blaine rolled his neck to the side. "I hate to tell you, Kurt, but I think your mom might have thrown the game. So, in Mrs. Hummel's grand tradition of picking prizes everyone will love … a kiss to whoever finds the princess castle first."

Kurt laughed happily. "She would have loved you, Blaine. So would my dad."

"That means a lot to me, Kurt. I wish I could say the same, but I don't know how my parents would have reacted. I never even came out to them."

"You came out really young, didn't you?"

"Middle school. It wasn't on my terms either. One of the guys on the football team stopped by unexpectedly, and he saw the Zac Efron poster taped up on the back of my closet door."

"Your _closet_, Blaine?"

"Where else was I going to hide it? What about you?"

"Last year. I told my best friend – former best friend – because she had a crush on me, and I think she told everyone else I was finally acknowledging it. They all already knew."

"She told as payback for you not liking girls?"

"No, because Mercedes is a gossip."

They fell into silence for a few minutes, until Blaine tried to pawn what was obviously a giant caterpillar-turning-dragon off as a princess castle. They debated whether it might be a castle if the spinning top-turning-sparrow merged into it, but the cloud collision never came.

"You don't have to call Mercedes your former best friend," Blaine said. "I won't be offended if you want to keep calling her your best friend."

Kurt sighed. "Even if I could go back, she wouldn't be my best friend anymore. I don't know if she'd be my friend at all. Just before I came here, she guilt-tripped me into doing something I swore I never would, and then she abandoned me for the chance to win a free Italian dinner."

"I'm missing something."

"Unfortunately, you're not. I'm not sure I have any genuine friends on the other side, except for Tina and maybe Mike, but they're so quiet it's hard to tell what side they're on, if they're on a side at all. They used to stand up for me, used to be there for me. But something happened, and I was alone again. I needed you before I ever came here, Blaine. Princess castle."

Blaine didn't look up at the clouds. He was too riveted by his incredible boyfriend. He rolled onto his side and slotted his lips with Kurt's, not because he'd won the cloud castle game, but because Blaine could never get enough of his soft lips and his citrusy smell and the hint of mocha on his breath.

"I win," Kurt mumbled against Blaine's lips.

Blaine didn't give him another chance to speak.

Two hours later, with the sun settling behind the western hills, Blaine gathered up the remnants of their lunch while Kurt folded the blanket. They headed home and to their meeting about their musical hand-in-hand. The little waxed paper boats still battled the water for the right to sail together.


	32. Twenty Three

**TWENTY-THREE**

April turned otherwise pleasant teachers into demonic tyrants. Fearful that their pupils might abandon their studies for the fine weather outside, they piled on the homework and gave harsh reminders about term papers due at the end of the month every day. The common room of the boys' apartment remained silent most nights, save for the flipping of pages or scratch of pen on paper or clacking of keys on the shared laptop.

With the opening date of the musical coming nearer, the vocal coaches and dance instructors pushed their students equally hard. Kurt had such a vehement hatred of Dmitri he had thought up seven different ways of killing the man with ballet shoes. Blaine still hadn't mastered his falsetto, which Caroline informed him was unacceptable for a tenor and signed him up for an additional vocal lesson each week. Kurt had started piano lessons with Ciara once a week too.

"Voice lessons," Kurt muttered.

He snapped his Italian book shut and shoved it into this bag, which he left laying on the coffee table because he would have to finish his translations – Italian to French – when he got back from his lesson. Blaine paused over his Latin conjugation tables to kiss Kurt goodbye.

The weather had stayed nice all week, but Kurt still held his jacket closed as he jogged the distance to the building next door where he met with Caroline every other day for voice lessons. Instead of finding the irascible old woman at the piano, however, Cillian stopped playing a soft lullaby and beckoned Kurt over.

"I've given Caroline the day off. Have a seat, Kurt." He waited for his pupil to settle in. "I wanted to talk to you about your career path. I understand you're interested in musical theater as your primary role in the company."

"Yes. I would still like to sing with The Carrollers and do plays, but musical theater is my first love."

"Good. I'm glad to hear you're pursing what you love. Now here's the reality, Kurt. There aren't musical theater roles for countertenors, so what we're gonna do is this: I'll be taking over your vocal lessons from now on, and we'll work together on strengthening your lower register so you can sing those plentiful tenor parts."

Kurt's smile faltered as he listened. "But my voice … it's my signature. It's what makes me unique. I like singing the mezzo and soprano parts."

"And you can, with The Carrollers. But if you want to sing only those parts, you should talk to Katya about training for the opera where there are roles for countertenors because there aren't the parts in musical theater. There are, however, a lot of high tenor roles that we can train you for."

Kurt's jaw tightened, and he turned his eyes away from the piano and out the window at the twilight descending on Broadway.

"Since when did having a broad, versatile range become a bad thing?" Cillian asked. "The top half of your range is spectacular because you've put a lot of work into it, but what about the lower half? You wouldn't tell a bass to ignore his upper range because then what solos would he have? The same goes for you. You need your full range to become the best actor you can be, Kurt."

Kurt took a breath and nodded. He knew he had the ability to sing with a deeper voice, but he didn't like his chest voice. But vocal lessons were for improving his voice, not for singing songs he could kill in his sleep. Cillian had a point too about countertenors (like basses and contraltos) being woefully neglected in musical theater.

"Then let's warm up with scales. Beginning here."

Cillian tapped the C below middle C, and smiled encouragingly when Kurt blanched.

"Give it a try, Kurt. I won't do anything to ruin your beautiful voice. If you can't sing it, we'll move up the scale, but you might surprise yourself."

At the end of the lesson, Cillian handed Kurt the sheet music to _On the Street Where You Live_ from _My Fair Lady_ and told him to be prepared to sing it at their next lesson on Monday. The song was lower than anything Kurt would have picked for himself, but he had to admit after hitting and holding tenor notes all lesson, that the song was well within in his range.

**o o o**

"Everyone step away from your books!" Dagny demanded.

The boys looked up from their studies, but no one dropped pens or made any move to separate themselves from the homework that needed to be completed. The light rain that had started up around lunchtime had dissipated by five o'clock leaving the sky rain washed and Here crowned with a rainbow.

"You're all going crazy under the pressure! Hana just told me that Kurt ate pizza for lunch. And you've been talking to yourself, Jeff. It's not natural."

"In addition to all of our vocal and acting and dancing lessons, we also have schoolwork which is pretty important, in my opinion," Nick grumbled. "We agreed we wouldn't talk about the musical until we have our assignments done, and we really need to talk about the musical."

All the boys nodded, but Dagny flapped her hand at them.

"You're all wound so tight you're probably getting answers wrong, and you'll be at each others' throats when you talk about the musical. You need to relax with something that's not related to school or theater. It'll get you focused again."

"So what's your idea?" Blaine asked, stifling a yawn even though he had hours of work ahead of himself.

"Something to wake you up!" the girl laughed, nudging him with the toe of her sneaker.

"You don't have anything, do you?"

Dagny frowned at Blaine, and almost in unison, the boys went back to their homework. She sulked on the couch while they worked and resigned herself to another boring afternoon while all her friends did homework.

"Wait. I have something!" Kurt said unexpectedly. "Your Christmas present, Blaine."

The other boys' face lit up as he recalled the box of items he'd opened at Christmas. It was still sitting at the bottom of his closet unused because of winter weather. Nick, Jeff, and Dagny shared skeptical glances, not remembering what Kurt had gotten Blaine.

"Football in the park?" Blaine asked.

**o o o**

The teenagers claimed a corner of the park in the center of Here and marked off their makeshift football field with the BeDazzled cones. Blaine handed out the flags that they tucked into their belts and they split into teams. To stay fairly even, they divided based on skill level: Blaine, Jeff, and Hana versus Dagny, Kurt, and Nick.

"Ready!" Blaine called, crouching down with the ball. "Set! Hut!"

They played with virtually no rules or strategy to the way they passed the ball and ran down the quarter field. Blaine wasn't even really his team's quarterback, but Jeff didn't know how to call a play properly and Hana was afraid to touch the ball. The tiny girl mainly weaved around the field trying to pull flags out of belts. To any other group of males, it might have mattered, but not to these boys.

"I'm open!" Dagny shouted.

Jeff cocked his arm back and sent the football spiraling down the field into her waiting arms, and while Kurt was pretty sure Jeff and Dagny were on opposite teams, it gave him an excellent opening to capture Blaine's flag, or whatever it was called in touch football. He lunged forward, trying to ignore the mud splattering up onto his pants, and tripped spectacularly over a rut in the ground. He crashed into Blaine, and they went down into the mud with their hands scrambling for purchase on thin air and mouths forming perfect Os.

"It's called touch football for a reason, Kurt," Blaine laughed, once the shock had worn off.

"I'm covered in mud!" Kurt cried.

Running into Blaine had twisted his trajectory and sent him careening towards the ground on his side. Mud coated his left side and flecks had splashed up onto his face and into his hair. Blaine paused while wiping mud of his glasses with the hem of his shirt and bit back a laugh.

"It's not funny!"

"Of course it's not. It just reminded me of how we started to fix things between us, and that led to _us_. If you want to go back home, I can help you clean up this time."

"No. I've survived eight hours covered in axel grease. I can manage to deal with some mud. Besides, I have a big halftime show planned."

"Halftime show?"

"Every football game needs cheerleaders."

Blaine's jaw fell open, and he practically felt his brain short-circuit as Kurt climbed to his feet – giving a nice view of Kurt's toned backside in the process – and rejoined the game by shouting at their friends to reset. Needless to say, Blaine played terribly the rest of the "first half" being constantly distracted by Kurt and the idea of Kurt in a cheerleading uniform.

"I need a time out!" Hana called breathlessly.

The girl cradled in her arms all the flags, even the ones her own teammates had tucked into their belts. She'd beaten her best time of de-flagging everyone.

"I think we should have started by going over the rules," Nick stated.

"Or even just explaining football is a team sport," Jeff added.

Kurt thought this was an excellent stopping point for the half-time show. He jogged over to the small bag he'd packed and pulled out a set of pom-poms. He'd made them back in December to go with the football equipment.

Dagny laughed heartily at the stunned look on Blaine's face and the way his eyes latched onto the pom-poms. She grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him over to a wrought iron bench where they settled in to watch Kurt's show. The cheerleader nodded at Hana, who pushed play on the portable CD player Kurt had brought too.

If pom-poms shocked Blaine, it was nothing compared to hearing the opening notes of _Peacock_ come out the speakers and Kurt throw himself into a cheerleading routine clearly meant for girls wearing short skirts.

"God, I love Katy Perry," Blaine muttered.

When Kurt did a high kick, Blaine's eyes grew so large his irises were ringed with white. The kick was, of course, immediately followed by a kind of jutting hip thrust normally only seen in hip hop videos and the dance floor of seedy nightclubs in movies. Dagny clapped two hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter when Blaine shifted around awkwardly and crossed his legs.

From an objective stand point, Dagny could see now where Kurt got the bounce in his dance moves that drove Dmitri crazy. The abundance of clapping, jumping, and leaping done in cheerleading routines had led him astray when it came to real dancing. But that was only a passing thought, because Kurt's innocent sexiness and Blaine's typical male reaction to it made her stomach ache with suppressed laughter.

Further down the bench, Jeff and Nick watched with their heads cocked to the side and nodding, as if they too got why Kurt was so damned sexy, but trying to contain their laughter at Blaine's predicament as much as she. Only Hana seemed clueless, bobbing her head and tapping her feet to the beat.

Kurt ended the routine in some pose that Dagny supposed would look better in a formation, and beamed at their hearty applause. Blaine joined the cheers a few seconds too late, but Kurt didn't notice. That couldn't be the end of it, not with their friends.

"Yeah, Kurt!" Nick cheered, jumping up from the bench. He cast a mischievous smirk in Blaine's direction. "That routine deserves a standing ovation!"

Blaine shot a look somewhere between furious and panicked at Nick, and Dagny reached across him to smack her future-boyfriend in the arm. He rubbed at the spot and sat back down. Dagny pulled Kurt onto their bench and shoved a bottle of water into his hands.

"We did that routine as the halftime show for homecoming last year. Everyone loved it almost as much as the glee club's performance of _Push It_."

"Awesome school," Jeff murmured, and Nick nodded emphatically.

The second half of the game went much better than the first half. Blaine seemed to forget they were playing touch football a couple times, however, and knocked Nick around considerably. They trudged back home and had just enough time clean up before Ciara closed the kitchen for dinner so they were the last ones in the dining room and charged with washing their own dishes.

"Did you have fun today?" Kurt asked.

Blaine paused mid-chew and blinked at his boyfriend. He didn't know if Kurt was playing coy or if he honestly didn't realize how provocative that song and cheer routine were. He swallowed the bite of roll thickly.

"Yeah. Thank you, Kurt, for putting in so much thought and effort into my Christmas present. How weird is that to say in April?"

"You're welcome." Kurt popped a brussel sprout into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "We should do that more often. I forgot how fun football can be."

Blaine wholeheartedly agreed.

"I love performing," Kurt went on, "but it's turned into this huge amount of pressure too whereas it used to be the way I relaxed. I need some other hobbies in my life. I should start making clothes again."

"Why do you think I go finding so much?" Blaine asked.

"That is the cutest hobby ever."

"You could come with me again sometime. We've hardly been all winter."

Kurt cast his boyfriend an incredulous look. "Wait. You actually went out finding in that weather? But I would like to go with you again now that the temperature is suitable for human survival sans twenty pounds of protective gear."

"Less doe-eyes and more table clearing," Hana chided the couple.

They put their planning on hold to gather up the flatware and go help their friends wash up in the kitchen. Much to everyone's surprise, conversation turned towards the business of the musical immediately and, as Dagny pointed out triumphantly, no one was at each other's throats because they were too tense. In fact, they were all in agreement about the musical and the roles.

"_Grease is the word_," they sang on their way upstairs.

* * *

><p><strong>Credits:<strong> Lyrics from "Grease" by Frankie Valli from the musical _Grease_.


	33. Twenty Four

**TWENTY-FOUR**

On Thursday night, the entire company turned out to watch the dancers' dress rehearsal of _In the Upper Room_. Normally, Blaine suffered through the ballets for Dagny's sake, but he honestly enjoyed the less formal style of dancing. Naturally, Dagny brought the crowd to its feet on opening night.

"None of you come back!" Dagny insisted after the show. "I want plenty of seats open for my adoring crowd," she joked.

So on Saturday night, instead of shadowing Dagny back to The Wonderland for another matinee performance, the students met with their director in the practice theater to talk about their musical, the opening date of which was a mere three weeks away.

Although well into his sixties, Declan Foster remained a bear of a man. Standing at almost six-and-a-half feet, he towered over everyone and spoke in a deep, booming voice colored with heavy Northern English gruffness. He still had a head of jet black, untamable waves and rough stubble on his cheeks, jaw, and neck. There was something friendly in his light blue eyes though that welcomed the students' optimism.

"Tell me, my future colleagues, what musical I am directing you in this year. And, please God, not _Phantom_ again."

"Well, actually," Kurt said, sitting up straighter and clapping his hands together in front of himself. "We want to do a musical that expresses our emotional journey as high school students. What better selection to represent all our hopes and fears for the future than the Jacobs and Casey classic _Grease_?"

Declan considered, his eyes dancing over the students seated around him. "No."

"I'm sorry, what?" Kurt asked. "It's the perfect musical for us. The only downside is its cinematic connection to Olivia Newton John who I've sworn to hate forever because her vote crushed my glee club's spirit at Regionals."

"It is a poor selection on many levels, the first of which being that you don't have a large enough cast. Who were you thinking would play these roles?"

"We agreed Kurt would be Danny since Blaine had the lead in our play," Hana began.

"No. Kurt will not be playing the lead in _Grease_. Ever."

"I've been working on my lower range."

Declan waved off the defense, and the students tensed. An uneasy roiling bloomed in Kurt's stomach, almost as if he knew what was coming before the words left Declan's mouth.

"That's not what I meant, Kurt. No one is going buy you as a romantic lead if you're playing opposite a woman. Romantic roles don't need to be masculine. Ian McKellan played Romeo very sensitively, but despite his orientation, he has learned, or perhaps it comes naturally, how to play straight, and that is something you have not mastered yet, nor may you ever. So, for your musical, may I suggest _West Side Story_?"

The five teenagers sat in various states of silent discomfort. Nick and Jeff because they'd thought it from the beginning, but didn't want to have to tell Kurt, but also furious Declan would be so blunt and hurtful when kinder words could have been found. Hana chewed on her bottom lip and cast pitying eyes at Kurt.

"No."

Blaine's voice cut through the heavy air. He drew attention away from the humiliation on Kurt's cheeks to the high color in own cheeks.

"But you would be an excellent Tony."

"You can't talk to Kurt like that! He is an amazing actor, and his voice is stunning. You haven't even given him a chance. You're judging him based on appearances off stage, and that's not fair."

Declan sucked in a deep breath. "I see you all need a few more days to consider your musical selection. Pick something with a small cast and appropriate roles for everyone. Let's reconvene on Monday."

The others slunk out of the room after Declan had left, leaving Kurt and Blaine alone in the small theater. Kurt turned away quickly to hide the angry tears spilling down his cheeks. Blaine's face crumpled and his hands twitched uselessly on the armrests.

"Kurt, I am so sorry you had to go through that. I can't believe _Declan_ said all that. If I'd known he thought that way, I would have gone to Cillian and asked for another director."

"I know you would have. And thank you for speaking up for me, Blaine," Kurt said. "But I really need some time alone right now. I promise I'll talk to you later, but I can't right now."

Blaine nodded silently and departed the theater with a longing backwards glance. He wished more than anything he could help Kurt, but this was something he didn't have any words of wisdom for. He would never understand, he knew, because he was masculine enough for the lead romantic roles and for acquaintances with homophobic tendencies to pretend they didn't know what they knew.

Kurt stayed in the theater for another half hour hugging himself around the middle and longing for the advice his dad could have given him to make it all better.

**o o o**

By the time Kurt walked back over to the apartments, almost everyone had gone over to The Wonderland for the dancers' evening show or out for an evening on the town. A crash and painful groan coming from the kitchen gained Kurt's attention. He'd planned on going straight upstairs, but it wasn't in him to leave an injured person to sort themselves out.

Cillian leaned heavily on the island countertop and rubbed at his bad hip tenderly. Kurt scooped the dropped metal mixing bowls up from the floor and deposited them in the sink.

"Are you all right?"

"Ah. You're a good lad. It's just my old bones catching up to me. You look like you've had better days."

Kurt wondered how bad he must look for Cillian to take note of it. The old man tapped the barstool under the island with his cane, and Kurt took a seat before summarizing what Declan had said about him.

"The only people who call Declan by his name are people who don't know him. Everyone else calls him Oscar, as in, the Grouch." A flickering smile faded from his lips. "But, Kurt, I would have had to say the same if I'd been your director, because you're not right for Danny."

"So I'm not even going to be considered for the great romantic roles? You're just going to look at me and judge me?"

"Of course we are. You're an _actor_, Kurt. What the hell did you think we were going to do? Sit down and have a nice chat about your hobbies? Determine your IQ? Do your star chart?"

"No," Kurt grumbled. "But I expected to have a shot at playing a lead."

"Why do you have to have a lead?"

"Every actor wants the lead, the chance to shine in the spotlight," Kurt countered.

"They want that, sure. But they don't all think they're going to get it. Listen, Kurt. There is a role for every actor, but in order to get those parts, you have to accept that your look is part and parcel of being an actor. You look the way you look, and it can play to your advantage if you embrace it.

"Some of the best loved characters are supporting roles. Think of any ensemble cast. Think about _LOST_. Who knew the bug-eyed, hobbit-size man hired for a two episode story arc would become a series regular and sympathetic villain? And now all you have to do is look at the DVRs ending up here to see he's got an amazing career now. You know why that is, Kurt? Because audiences respect sincerity and writers fall in love with actors who speak their words with reverence. Those audiences demand more of that character and writers write for that actor.

"But you can't be _that_ actor if you're fighting for roles you're never going to get. No one will ever see what you can do if you can never get a role."

Kurt considered the countertop for a pregnant moment. He tried to absorb everything Cillian had to say and not reject it out of hand. It came down to, Kurt thought, which he wanted more: to play the iconic, romantic leads or to be a working actor. Either answer would demand sacrifice.

"You tried to tell me this before, didn't you? When you made me start strengthening my lower register?"

"I'm not here to tell you what path to take, Kurt. You're a man; you control your own life. I'm here to guide you down whatever path you decide to travel as honestly as I can. These things I have to tell you, they're not always pleasant to hear, but I'd be doing you a greater disservice to say nothing at all."

Kurt smiled sadly. "My dad was the same way. I don't know if he'd have an insiders' perspective like this. His advice might have been more unconventional, but he would have been nothing if not honest."

Kurt departed a few minutes later. He wondered what his dad would have said and whether it would have been as difficult to accept as Cillian's advice or whether it would have been immediate, like when his dad had won him the right to audition for the _Defying Gravity_ solo.

**o o o**

Monday morning, Blaine, Nick, and Jeff were roused from deep sleeps by insistent knocking on their doors and Kurt's threats to forcibly drag them out of their beds if they didn't get up right that second. Then he left them alone for five minutes while he went to get Hana and repeated the process on their doors over again.

"It's five in the morning!" Nick yelled, wrenching his door open.

"I have coffee and donuts."

"Where did you get donuts?"

The sight of chocolate donuts and steaming coffee had calmed Nick down considerably, and he picked his way over to the couch. Hana had devoured half of a powdered donut and had a chocolate and sprinkle in her other hand.

"I made them. I didn't sleep last night. _Blaine, get up!_"

Another ten minutes passed before Kurt wrangled everyone into the common room and got enough caffeine and sugar pumping in their veins to keep them alert for more than a few seconds at a time. A common room full of tousled hair and pajamas blinked up at him.

"So why are we up even earlier than we need to be on a school day?" Hana asked.

She was now on her third donut. Clearly, Ciara needed to make them more or the whole company would binge until they made themselves sick when they saw the batches Kurt had left downstairs.

"We need to talk about our musical."

If caffeine and sugar hadn't already done the trick, that statement would have woken up the teenagers immediately.

"Now, I know Declan suggested _West Side Story_, and you all will have great roles in that musical. If that's what you want to do, then I can accept playing Officer Krupke. But I don't think it is the best fit for us. We don't have a second female lead or the Sharks or Jets. You have a great voice, Hana, but you're not a soprano, which means we don't have our lead female. I don't know if the dancers would be willing to help us out or not, but they can't rehearse with us and do their shows at the same time."

"What do you have in mind, Kurt?" Blaine asked.

He'd spotted the stack of papers Kurt had photocopied at the library during his sleepless night while he stress baked and panicked over the impending meeting with Declan.

"I think we should do something that's not high school standard. If we were in a musical theater program, which we basically are right now, we would be staging anything and everything we could. Classic musicals, risqué shows, controversial plays, and experimental theater. We would always want to surprise and shock our audience. So … I propose we do a musical never done in the history of The Wonderland Company."

"Is there one?"

"There are a couple. I checked the playbills archive at the library last night. And one of them is, I think, perfect for us."

He paused for dramatic effect, and then said the musical. The reaction was instantaneous and unanimous. Nine hours later, Declan could only gape at his students.

**o o o**

"_Sweeney Todd_?"

Kurt sucked in a steadying breath and launched into his justification. Whatever this man thought about him, this decision had cost Kurt sleepless nights and more tears than he'd thought he'd had. It was a good choice, and he would not back down from this fight.

"We agree that an edgier, darker musical is the creative direction we want to take. I've played Riff Raff in _Rocky Horror_, and I can tell you that a creepy musical is loved all around – by audiences and actors." He fibbed the audience part, but the movie did have a cult following for a reason. "Plus, it's perfect for our group in terms of singing parts."

"There are some unfilled roles," Blaine jumped in, "but they're supporting characters, and we've been allowed to recruit at school before. That's how we found Nick."

Declan nodded. "So tell me about the casting."

"Sweeney can be sung by a baritone, so we've given that role to Jeff. Hana, of course, will sing Mrs. Lovett. Our tenor, Blaine, will play Anthony, and Amara and Ebele are considering helping us by playing Johanna and Lucy. Then we have Nick as Judge Turpin, again as a baritone."

"And you, Kurt?" Declan asked.

"Beadle Bamford. His role is a tenor/countertenor crossover, which is my ideal singing part. That leaves Toby and Pirelli for us to recruit."

It killed Kurt to cast himself as the sleazy villain, but truth be told, Anthony would have been the part he wanted least in _Sweeney Todd_. In a cast of twisted, dark characters he was the least interesting male character. He felt a little sorry for Blaine that he didn't get to play an evil character.

The director considered for a moment. "Yes. We start rehearsal tomorrow. You're free to go, except Kurt. I'd like a word."

The approval came so suddenly and was so unexpected it took the students a moment to respond. Declan shooed them out before they could start jumping around in the practice theater. They were reluctant to leave Kurt, but he gestured for them to go and turned to face the man who had so ruthlessly dashed his dreams two days ago.

"I have three things to say to you, Kurt. Firstly, I'd like to apologize to you. I stand by what I said, but not the way I said it. I realize I may have sounded like I thought there was something wrong with you, and I don't and there's not."

Kurt didn't know what to say to that. It was like Parrish shoving him to the ground, and then spinning on his heel and helping him up. But Declan rode over anything he could have said.

"The second thing is … that I'm proud of you, Kurt. You can tell a lot about a man from the way he handles criticism, and you've done a right sight better than most of the men I know. I respect what you came and did here today."

"T-Thank you." Kurt felt lame having nothing else to add, but he was still reeling.

"Did you know that, on the other side, I was an actor? I worked on the West End."

"Just when you couldn't surprise me anymore. I didn't know that."

"I saw a lot of myself in you when I heard you wanted to play Danny. I wasted years of my life trying to be Hamlet when I'm really Claudius. I nearly starved more times than I can count, and I wasn't happy not being on stage. But, I suppose there were better ways for me to tell you that story. I could, for example, have just told you the damned story."

Kurt couldn't suppress the smile breaking across his lips.

"There was something else?" he asked.

"A confession. I hate – loathe – _Sweeney Todd_. So, I can't really direct you properly, but I'll be damned if I go to Cillian with my tail between my legs and admit that. I'm in the market for an assistant director to give me some creative input."

"Well, Jeff is graduating this year, so he'd be the obvious choice," Kurt said.

"Oh, would he now? A director is a leader. He goes to any lengths to put on a great show, he makes decisions, and he defends those decisions. What's obvious is that I was talking about you, Kurt. The adults in the company have been saying for awhile that our students haven't had a creative leader since Dagny graduated. It appears they have one now. So what do you say, Kurt?"

Kurt had lost count of the number of times he'd been surprised tonight.

"Yes. Yes, of course!"

"Good. Now you go tell your friends. I'm sure they're waiting right outside the door wondering if I'm shoving your lifeless body into a trash bag and heading out the back."

Kurt didn't know what to make of Declan. Everything about the man was gargantuan – his height, his build, his personality, his mistakes, his apologies. In some ways, he reminded Kurt of Coach Sylvester, minus the plans to destroy glee club, but in others he was like Mr. Schue making bad snap decisions but willing to admit his error.

"I think I like Declan," Kurt announced.

His friends stared back blankly, and then smothered him in a group hug because they'd eavesdropped on the whole conversation.


	34. Twenty Five

**TWENTY-FIVE**

The excitement of selecting a musical, and being the first actors in Here to stage it, filled the teenagers with exuberance that couldn't be contained. They chattered constantly about costumes, make-up, and set pieces. They watched the Tim Burton film more times than they could count and spent countless hours debating, critiquing, and comparing it to the stage show.

"Obviously, the biggest challenge is going to be the chair," Blaine said. "We need a mechanism to drop the corpses from the barbershop into the furnace."

"A two-tiered set isn't going to be easy to build either," Jeff pointed out. "Kurt, we need you to bribe our set designers with food."

"Hmm. I have a wonderful recipe for meat pies," Kurt said, chuckling darkly.

Howls of laughter met his joke.

The rest of the week continued on in much the same way. _Sweeney Todd_ had taken over every aspect of their lives. There seemed no limit to how dark and twisted they could go with the material. The musical lent itself well to indulgence on the actors' part.

Dagny complained so much about feeling excluded that Kurt, in his role as assistant director, finally offered her the part of Pirelli, but she'd have to do it in drag like they'd done in the Broadway revival. She accepted immediately and joined their eager conversations.

Not everyone was thrilled with the groups' happiness, however. Christophe snapped at all of them to shut up during their GSA meeting and then cancelled the workshops Kurt had planned so carefully because the club was obviously more concerned with "frivolous things."

"So … I take it he's not over you," Nick said, trying to break the tension.

Kurt let it go, but only because he thought having the workshops at the end of the school year would be counterproductive. He would be pushing the issue come September, however.

There was also Parrish, who had never stopped bullying Blaine and now resumed terrorizing Kurt too. They were careful not to provoke him by being overly affectionate at school. In fact, they rarely even touched in public unless they were absolutely certain no one could see them. But Parrish took offense if Kurt and Blaine so much as smiled or walked within twelve inches of each other. The excitement over the musical only worsened his mood.

"Hey, fairy boy."

Blaine had no time to react before a pair of hands slammed into his shoulder blades and sent him flying forward. He saw the concrete wall approaching, but with his hands trapped inside his messenger bag as he put away his books, he couldn't even cushion the impact. His head collided against the painted cinder blocks at the temple. Shockwaves of pain shot through his head, and he heard the sharp snap of his glasses breaking. A sharp metal fragment from the arm sliced through the skin by his eye.

Parrish seized a handful of Blaine's shirt and spun him around and against the wall. Two sets of hands pinned Blaine's shoulders while Parrish released the blue cotton and took a step back like an artist observing his work. Blaine's head throbbed, and the world blurred without his glasses.

"So, Blaine. It's been awhile since we've had one of our chats." Parrish clucked his tongue. "I never should have let it go this long. You've clearly forgotten your place. With the way you've been laughing and carrying on with your lady fag – "

Blaine fought to free his shoulders from Dex and Perkins' grip, but they dug their fingers into his skin and shoved him against the wall harder. He didn't stop fighting their hold though every jerk of his body sent shocks of pain to his skull.

" – it's clear you don't remember who's in charge here. Let me remind you."

Parrish's fist slammed into Blaine's stomach, and Dex and Perkins released his shoulders. Blaine collapsed onto the cold tile, coughing and curled in on himself. Parrish lowered himself into a crouch and captured Blaine's eyes before leveling his final threat in a low, dark voice.

"I hear your lady boy gets a razor to the throat in your precious little musical. Keep your disgusting perversions to yourselves or you might find life imitating art."

Cold flooded Blaine's body, replacing the white hot pain in his abdomen and bright throbbing in his head. Parrish and his lackeys left Blaine on the ground trembling head to toe. He remembered the beating they'd given him three years ago, the way Parrish had grabbed his head and slammed it into the concrete so many times he'd lost the vision in his left eye for two weeks, the way Dex had kicked his chest so hard two ribs had cracked on first contact. He didn't doubt their malice or their capability of carrying out their threat.

Blaine pulled himself to his feet and stumbled into the nearest restroom where he emptied his stomach and sank onto the cold tile with waking nightmares of Parrish going after Kurt flashing behind his eyes.

"Blaine?"

Nick shuffled into the bathroom cautiously, spinning the broken glasses he'd found in the hallway in his palms. He peered into the first stall, the door of which was trapped between the flimsy metal cubicle wall and Blaine's body, and saw his friend crumpled on the ground.

"I'm gonna kill that asshole," Nick muttered. He tucked Blaine's glasses into the back pocket of his jeans. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

It concerned Nick the way Blaine couldn't walk in a straight line to the sinks and how he fumbled with the tap and couldn't remember which way turned the water on. The taller boy took Blaine's face into his hands and stared into his unfocused eyes.

"Damn it." Nick spun the tap. "Wash your mouth out, then I'm taking you home."

There was no point going to the school nurse. She would have to file a report, and that would only anger Parrish even more. Plus, when Nick kicked the crap out of him for this, Principal Ferris would know exactly who to punish.

"I don't have a concussion. I just can't see without my glasses."

"Right. That's why you tried turning the tap the wrong way."

Blaine swirled a mouthful of water and leaned low over the sink to spit it out. He dabbed at his mouth with the wet paper towel Nick offered and folded it to wipe away the congealed blood next to his eye.

"I just had my head bashed against a wall and got punched in the stomach. I'm allowed to be a little confused. But you can come with me to Dr. Mueller's if you're concerned."

Nick handed over the glasses. The arm had snapped in half, and one of the lenses had a crack through the lower third. Blaine slipped them into his bag and hitched it over his shoulder.

"Don't let me face plant on the way there."

Nick had to admit that Blaine's coordination improved with time, and that the stumbles he took over uneven cobblestones probably could be attributed to his being blind as a bat.

The only optometrist in town, Dr. Mueller, had a small office near the hospital with gardens of brightly colored flowers lining the walkway up to his door and window boxes lining all the windows. His affinity for garden gnomes bordered on the disturbed, but no one wanted to question the only man in Here capable of correcting their vision.

The bell above the door jangled when they entered, and Dr. Mueller poked his head out of the exam room to tell them he'd be a moment. Displays of glasses ringed the waiting area, but instead of being arranged by brand or style, as they were on the other side, the tops of the displays bore cardboard placards with prescriptions. Only Dr. Mueller could make sense of the incomprehensible numbers: -.75/+125 and -150/-120 and +2.5/-.70 were impossible to navigate without his help.

"Want me to go over to the pharmacy and get you some Tylenol?" Nick asked.

"Please?"

"Right. School's about out. I can run back and get Kurt."

"No," Blaine said quickly. "I don't want Kurt to know about this."

Nick cocked an eyebrow. "Well, he's definitely going to notice that you have different glasses when we walk through the door, so you might want to rethink that. Anyway, aren't you and Kurt all about total honesty now? I know you're a stubborn guy, Blaine, but you're not an idiot."

"Mind your own business. Go get me some Tylenol," Blaine snapped.

"Fine. But if you make the same mistake twice, you're gonna screw up what you two have. If the roles were reversed, you know Kurt would come to you."

Blaine didn't think that was true, but he let Nick leave without prolonging the argument. He felt sure that if Parrish had threatened Kurt with Blaine's safety, Kurt would not have burdened Blaine with that knowledge.

"What can I do for you, Blaine?" He held out the broken glasses for Dr. Mueller to examine. "I might be able to fix the arm, but it'd taken me weeks to find the right shape and prescription to match the cracked lens. We might as well give you an exam. Come on back."

When Blaine came out of the exam room with his new prescription (slightly stronger in the right eye this year), Nick had a small bottle of Tylenol in hand and a canteen. Blaine swallowed down two of the pills gratefully.

"Help me pick out new glasses."

There was a small selection with Blaine's exact prescription. Glasses, being items lost on a regular basis, weren't hard to come by, but finding the right glasses wasn't always easy. Blaine decided on a pair similar to his broken pair. They were still rectangular, but slightly more rounded, and half-rimmed with a heavy black frame along the top and metal arms of deep purple stamped with one impressive word: Armani.

Nick let out a low whistle. "Kurt will be impressed. They look good on you."

"You don't think the purple is too … gay?"

"Well, you're _really_ gay, so …" Nick danced away from the playful punch aimed at his arm. "No, I don't. Lilac or lavender would be ostentatious, but you hardly notice these are purple."

"Oh, and _I'm_ really gay?"

Blaine almost enjoyed their banter on the way home, save for his headache, but the clawing fear returned with a vengeance when they walked into the common room and Kurt leapt off the couch and threw his arms around Blaine's neck.

"Oh my God! I was so worried about you, Blaine. I couldn't find you after school, and then Parrish made it sound like he'd hurt you and …"

Kurt found the cut by Blaine's eye and the Armani label. His eyes widened and cheeks paled, and Blaine gave up all hope of protecting him.

"I'm fine. I broke my glasses when I hit the wall. Trust me, they've done worse. And I got some Armani out of it, so that's exciting right?"

Kurt frowned. "I'd rather you got Armani minus the bullying. I do like them, though. They almost look purple in this light, but they're black, right?"

Blaine's sheepish grin spared them from talking more about Parrish and his threat.

**o o o**

Rehearsals began the second week of April, and Kurt all but disappeared from his friends' lives. He walked to school with them in the morning and ate lunch with them and saw them at rehearsals, but otherwise it was like living with a ghost. When he wasn't researching term papers in the library, he was Declan's shadow as they planned for the musical.

Kurt felt overwhelmed, and he was overjoyed by it. Declan ran every decision by him from the design of Mrs. Lovett's pie shop/Sweeney Todd's barbershop to the lighting setup to the makeup, and then he directed everyone involved to follow Kurt's decisions. On the rare night he had off, he sat in his room with his sewing machine furiously churning out elaborate costumes to match the massive set and risky makeup.

He felt like a one-man House of Gaga. He'd taken Sweeney Todd to its extreme theatricality and no one showed any indication that he'd gone too far.

"Are you coming to dinner?" Blaine asked, poking his head through Kurt's open door.

The countertenor's eyes flicked up and then down. He had four straight pins between his lips and the sewing machine flew down the seam on a distressed _La Belle Époque_ purple overcoat. When the stitching had reached the end of the coat, Kurt put in backstitches and then cut the threads and removed the pins from his mouth.

"I'm only just now getting to my own costume. I still have to get Amara and Ebele measured for their dresses, and I don't have any of the accessories for any costumes. Plus Declan needs to approve the paint colors for the set, and I just know Harry isn't going to distress it properly so the whole thing is going to look brand new when it should be almost derelict. And we're supposed to do the scene with Beadle, Turpin, and Lucy tomorrow, and I haven't even practiced the blocking, not to mention the songs and dialogue."

He said this all very rapidly and in one breath. Blaine came into the room and perched on the end of Kurt's bed. He saw Pavarotti had started to molt, and that Kurt hadn't even noticed was a bad sign. He put his hand over Kurt's.

"Hey. Don't you think you're spreading yourself a little thin? You can't be an actor, costume designer, _and_ director without any help. Maybe you should think about delegating. Did you know, for example, that I can use a sewing machine?"

The little tidbit intrigued Kurt. He let go of the scissors he'd had a death grip on.

"Everyone in sixth and seventh grade learned how to. So, if you need these turned into ascots, I'm your man," Blaine said, picking up several strips of cloth over the footboard. "And popped buttons don't stand a chance against me."

"You're the best. Thank you, Blaine." He took the piles of fabric off his lap and laid them on the desk. "Okay. Stick to the straight seams and buttons. Everything is pinned already, so it shouldn't be a problem. Don't break my sewing machine."

"You're leaving?"

Kurt was already out the door by the time Blaine asked, but he reappeared with guilt written on his face a moment later. He sighed deeply.

"That was you finding a way for us to spend time together, wasn't it?"

Blaine shrugged slightly. Kurt let his bag fall to the floor. The mattress dipped when he took a seat next to Blaine.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around much, and when I am here I'm franticly trying to get everything done. This is such a great opportunity, and I'm enjoying it so much. But I should make time for you. I'm sorry."

"It's only for another ten days, right? You're right. Not many students get to be assistant directors, especially not with a show like _Sweeney Todd_."

Blaine hated that the only time he'd spent with Kurt for the past week was at school, and he felt like he and Kurt had targets painted on their backs there. The apartment and The Wonderland were their only safe places, and they never had alone time at either place.

"You're sure? Because I can have faith that Harry will get it right."

"But he won't, so you have to go look over his shoulder. I understand, Kurt."

"You really are the best."

Kurt pressed a lingering kiss to Blaine's lips. He had to pull away too soon, however, and go over to The Wonderland to put the final approvals on the crew's work. They were scheduled to finish by the end of the day, which meant the sets would be coming up from the basement after the dancers' final performance, and the students would have three days to rehearse with their set and a dress rehearsal.

The timetable sent Kurt into a panic whenever he thought about it, but he swore to himself that he would find some time to take his beautiful, understanding boyfriend on a date before opening night because three weeks without having Blaine all to himself was just too long.


	35. Twenty Six

**TWENTY-SIX**

Blaine wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and block out the world after a long day at school and exhausting rehearsal. He knew Kurt could be demanding at times, but giving him the assistant director title empowered him to forget about subtly and let loose with his opinions. Blaine didn't know if his weariness came from the fifteen times Kurt had made them run through _The Ballad of Sweeney Todd_ (and reprise) or from physically restraining himself from whisking his sexy boyfriend backstage for a thorough kissing.

When Blaine got to his room, however, he found a handwritten note and a white and pale pink star lily on his pillow. He recognized Kurt's small, messy writing:

_Don't fall asleep. I've planned a date for tonight. I'll come get you at eleven_.

Blaine inhaled the sweet floral scent a few times with a silly grin on his lips. He took good-natured grief from Nick and Jeff about getting a flower when he went to retrieve a vase for it.

"I hope Dagny gives me a flower on my birthday," Nick called at Blaine's retreating back.

"It would make your first kiss so romantic," Jeff added, fluttering his eyes dramatically.

Blaine snapped his bedroom door closed and ignored them. He loved the flower, and he loved Kurt …. Blaine's reflection gawked at him in the mirror. He let out an almost hysterical laugh, because he couldn't believe that hadn't occurred to him before. He loved Kurt.

When Kurt rapped lightly on the door at eleven o'clock and got no answer, he poked his head inside and found Blaine dancing around his room from closet to bed trying to find the right outfit. He was singing along lightly to the radio (and sounding much better than the singer, in Kurt's opinion).

"As your director, I'm appalled you're not living and breathing Anthony. But as your boyfriend, I have to say that _Something's Coming_ is pretty much the perfect song for us right now. But you do know it's traditional to be fully dressed _before_ your date arrives, right?"

Blaine beamed at his boyfriend. "Thank you for the flower. And for planning a date. I know how busy you are."

"I'll always have time for you, Blaine."

Blaine decided on the gray and white striped cardigan and purple bowtie when it became clear that's what Kurt wanted him to wear.

"Where are you guys going?" Nick asked incredulously.

The clock read 11:24, and while Cillian and Ciara didn't enforce a curfew, the boys knew there were limits not to be tested. But Kurt figured that skipping school was worse than a midnight date, and they did that all the time with no consequences other than disapproving comments from their teachers.

"The hills. We'll be back in a few hours."

Blaine shrugged at their curious friends and let Kurt lead him out of the apartment. At this time of night on a weekday, most of Here had gone into their homes and to bed. The dim lights in the lampposts cast yellow halos on the cobblestone with patches of deep shadow between. The mid-April air felt cool, but not uncomfortably so, and the fresh rain scent from earlier in the day still lingered. When Kurt slipped his hand into Blaine's, he didn't object.

"So what's in the hills?"

"Do you remember once telling me that even the constellations are different here? Well, I thought tonight we could spend some time looking at them."

They had reached the hilly land on the western side of Here and started climbing towards the trees along the ridge. As Blaine's eyes adjusted to the darkness without the lampposts, he saw a large blanket spread on the grass in a cupped valley. Kurt's messenger bag lay off to the side.

"You are too good to me."

Kurt gave a toothy grin and tugged Blaine down onto the soft blanket. He had picked a spot with a slight incline so their heads had a kind of natural pillow when they reclined. Their hands and arms entwined as they lay close beside each other staring up at the sky.

The stars burst to life across the black night with the new moon only a sliver and the scarce light pollution of Here. For Kurt, who was accustomed to Orion and the Big Dipper parading nightly, the sky looked impossibly full of stars. He could hardly find a blank patch of sky.

"How do you even find constellations in this?"

"There are some stars that are brighter than the others." Blaine rolled his neck. "Like you."

Kurt let out a joyful laugh. "Oh my God! You are too cheesy."

"Says the man who gave me a _star_ lily."

"That was romantic!" Kurt protested.

"But also very cheesy."

Kurt resigned himself to the label. "I guess we just have to accept that we're _that_ couple."

Quiet settled over them for a moment while Blaine gazed lovingly at Kurt, and Kurt became aware he'd stolen the show from the stars. They shifted onto their sides in synch. Kurt's free hand came up to Blaine's hair. His fingers twirled around the curls around Blaine's ears. His pinky brushed the shell of his boyfriend's ear occasionally and sent shudders flying up Blaine's spine. For his part, Blaine stroked the soft planes of Kurt's cheeks and jaw with his fingertips and brought ragged breaths from between Kurt's parted lips.

"I love being _that_ couple," Blaine confessed. "I've never felt more right than when I'm with you, Kurt. I never want to be without you."

"You won't be," Kurt promised. "We'll be here together forever."

Kurt had only ever felt grief when he thought about living here for the rest of his life, but for the first time, he could imagine a happy ending because he had Blaine. A swooping sensation filled Kurt's chest. He loved Blaine.

Blaine closed the distance and slotted his lips against Kurt's soft, warm mouth. Kurt's fingers tightened in his hair, bringing a surprised moan from his throat. Kurt sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and drew Blaine's top lip between his own lips while his fingers trailed down to trace the shell of Blaine's ear. Blaine's hand fell away from Kurt's face to his shoulders and arm, and when their fingers locked together, he used the leverage to roll Kurt onto his back.

Kurt was lost in this wonderful boy over him: the scent of his musky cologne, the lingering taste of the coffee and cinnamon that had sustained him through rehearsal, his cardigan bunched up with movement and leaving a bare stretch of skin he so desperately wanted to trail his fingers over, their tongues sliding together, and the heat of their bodies pressed together.

Blaine broke the kiss too soon and dropped his head into the crook of Kurt's neck. He felt Blaine's hot, heavy breaths against his skin, and his own chest heaved out of time with Blaine's. Kurt shifted around surreptitiously, trying to adjust his hard-on into a more comfortable position inside his skinny jeans with both hands still trapped under Blaine's.

Blaine meant to take a minute to cool off, but the alluring citrusy musk on Kurt's neck did nothing to calm down his arousal, and with his pelvis pressed into the blanket even the slightest movement defeated the purpose of pausing anyway. He pressed openmouthed kisses to the pale column of Kurt's neck, and his boyfriend tilted his head back to give him better access. Blaine dragged his tongue along the sweat-salty skin and bit down. Kurt's fingers uncurled and flexed between his own, and he writhed under Blaine's chest.

"Hands," Kurt gasped. "Let go of my hands."

Blaine pouted into Kurt's neck, but did as his boyfriend requested. Kurt's arms came down and his hands ghosted over Blaine's hair and shoulders, down his back, and to the two inches of skin between his bunched up cardigan and waistband. Blaine started when he felt hands on his bare flesh, and his mouth released Kurt's neck with a wet pop.

Kurt shimmied down the blanket, dipped his head to claim Blaine's lips in a searing kiss that was all tongue and teeth, and Blaine felt the world shifting as Kurt rolled them over. With both hands on Blaine's waist, Kurt used his knees for balance and landed with Blaine's thigh between his legs and his hips hovering. The implications of the new position shocked Kurt out of the heated moment.

Suddenly, the hands were gone from Blaine's waist, and Kurt's heavy presence retreated from above Blaine. It took his lust-addled brain a minute to figure out what had happened, and to appreciate that they did need to cool down. Blaine conjugated Latin verbs in his head while his breathing and body quieted down. Kurt had gone absolutely silent beside him.

"Kurt?"

"I'm sorry. I – I don't know what I was thinking, and I didn't meant to … to lead you on, but I'm not ready for that." Kurt's voice trembled with emotion, and Blaine could picture the tears welling in his eyes.

"You don't have to apologize, Kurt. One of the joys of dating another boy is that I _completely understand_. We weren't thinking. At least not with our brains. Of course we're not ready. We haven't talked about it at all."

"I can't talk about it, Blaine. I don't know anything about sex."

"Neither do I." Kurt's neck rolled to gaze curiously at his boyfriend. "I only know what was in the pamphlet my physician gave me. I think we just proved that the mechanics are kind of intuitive, though. I meant talking about being ready, if we're ready."

"Are you …"

"No."

"So you're not mad at me?"

"Of course I'm not. But even if I was ready, I wouldn't be mad at your for needing more time."

Kurt rolled onto his side and pressed a chaste kiss to Blaine's lips. "You're the best boyfriend ever."

"Want to cuddle?" Blaine asked, with a wink.

Kurt settled in next to Blaine until they were wrapped up in each other. Blaine held his arm towards the sky and traced the constellations with his index finger. Sometimes Kurt paid attention to the star shapes, but mostly he watched Blaine's animated expressions and breathed in his unique scent and reveled in being held by this sweet, gorgeous boy.

**o o o**

When Kurt and Blaine walked through their door in the morning to take quick showers and hopefully make it to school before the first hour bell rang, they found an unexpected visitor reclining on their sofa: Soren.

Their cuddling and stargazing had, unsurprisingly, turned into slumber. The morning sun cresting over the hills had woken them, and they'd hurried back, but apparently they hadn't been fast enough. They had been well and truly caught. Soren offered a tight smile and motioned for the boys to shut the door behind them.

"Go take showers and make yourselves awake. Then we are going to talk."

Soren had never sounded so ominous. They rushed through their morning routines, both sensing that to keep Soren waiting longer than necessary would be a poor move on their parts. Kurt resigned himself to sweeping his bangs over and letting his hair air dry. They finished in the bathroom in record time and found themselves perched across from Soren and nervously trying to avoid eye contact.

"Ciara came to get me bright and early when she realized you two had been out all night. She was worried you'd been hurt, which is not outside the realm of possibility, as you two should know very well by now." He fixed them with a piercing gaze. "You have very loyal friends, but I got it out them eventually that you'd gone on a date. I know what keeps teenage boys out all night with their boyfriends."

Soren removed his thin rectangular lenses and rubbed at his eyes. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a box of condoms and a bottle of lubricant. Kurt's face burned red. With the heat in his cheeks and wet hair, he thought he'd start steaming any moment. Blaine slid down the couch and hunched his shoulders.

"We didn't have sex," Blaine muttered.

"I am not here to lecture you. I had sex when I was much younger than either of you, and you are both at the age of consent, but you are dating and living together. Sometimes the passion of the moment takes over, and you might find yourselves in a situation you didn't plan. If that happens, you need to be educated and you need to be safe."

"We're both virgins," Blaine said, so quietly Kurt almost didn't hear.

"You know that is a subjective term when there are two men involved, yes?" Kurt cocked his head to the side, which Soren took as a nonverbal question. "Sex is still sex without penetration, and some gay men prefer not to have anal sex at all."

Kurt prayed to the dwarf in the teapot on the far side of the moon that the couch would come alive and swallow him whole. Soren pointed at the box of condoms, and Kurt had sudden, violent, crippling fear that a cucumber would be joining the conversation at any moment.

"Blaine has pamphlets!" he blurted.

Blaine's head swiveled in his direction. Outrage and humiliation burned on his cheeks, and he furrowed his brow, as if to say '_Y tu_, Kurt?'. Soren, however, looked exceedingly relieved.

"So you already understand the mechanics? Good. Do either of you have any questions?"

Kurt had plenty of questions, the most important one being: Can we please leave now? Blaine seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Soren saw himself out, but left the condoms and lube behind. Kurt scooted away from them like they were deadly toxins.

"So … I guess I'm keeping these in my room?" Blaine joked.

Kurt doubled over with his flaming face in his hands. Blaine scooted across the couch and rubbed his back gently.

"I have never been more humiliated!" Kurt cried.

"Me either! Thanks for mentioning the pamphlets, Kurt. Traitor!"

The absurdity of the situation sent them into manic laughter until they realized they were, once again, late for first hour. Blaine tucked the condoms and lube away in his desk drawer next to the pamphlet with a photograph of two young men holding hands.

"Let's go torture Jeff and Nick for giving us up," Blaine said.

"I'm going to spend all day coming up with a very special treat for them during rehearsal. I think it's time to work _very_ rigorously on some Sweeney-Turpin scenes."


	36. Twenty Seven

**TWENTY-SEVEN**

Blaine hated _Sweeney Todd_.

He had been as enthusiastic about the musical as everyone else when Kurt had floated the idea, and the first week of rehearsals had been thrilling. Although he played the love-struck hero rescuing the damsel – _again_ – to do it in the context of _Sweeney Todd_, when the hero wasn't the protagonist, intrigued the actor in him.

Then Parrish had ruined everything with his threat. For the remaining two weeks of rehearsal, the razorblade made an appearance in Jeff's hand and along at least one character's throat every day. The very worst were the days Kurt sat in the chair. The makeup was too good, and Blaine woke up with nightmares for the next three days.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Declan shouted, when Blaine botched his entrance for the third time.

"Take five!" Kurt shouted.

Declan threw his hands up and stomped out of the theater while Kurt pulled Blaine into the wings away from the others. The artificial blood smeared over Kurt's ascot sent shudders up his spine, but Kurt's hand was warm in his.

"What's going on with you, Blaine? You've been unfocused for days. It's not like you."

"It's …. It's nothing. I'll be fine." Blaine forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'll be better. You won't have to scold me anymore."

He kept his promise, but only because he felt Kurt's eyes on him all the time: when he missed a step in the choreography, when he yawned too loudly over homework assignments, when he didn't eat a healthy breakfast. He dreaded having to tell Kurt about Parrish's threat, so he put on a brave face and repressed his fears for Kurt's sake.

**o o o**

The third week in April came far more quickly than the cast and crew of _Sweeney Todd_ would have liked. They worked to the last possible second perfecting their songs and choreography and set pieces and costumes, but found themselves at Bella Notte Thursday night after dress rehearsal toasting a good weekend of shows.

Kurt wanted to skip school on Friday to worry himself sick over details, but that was not an option. Next week, the College Track students sat their final exams, which meant all term papers were due on Friday. The condensed college semester that seemed so envious to their peers put a serious strain on their mental health, and none more so than the cast of _Sweeney Todd_.

Ciara had a quick meal waiting for them when they walked home from school, and then ushered them over to The Wonderland to begin getting ready for their performance. The costumes and makeup being what it was, they needed considerable time to transform into their characters physically and every actor benefited from a few moments to collect himself and mentally synch up with their character. When Dagny questioned if she should put rolled up socks down her trousers or not, Declan refused to let Kurt take over the persuasion. He did, however, allow Kurt to help Jeff secure his wig when it slipped and to smarten up Nick's overcoat.

"Show circle!" Kurt called.

They had ten minutes to go before curtain. Hana skipped over from where she'd peered around the curtain to watch the audience take their seats as the lights dimmed.

"A full house," she reported nervously.

Declan addressed the audience, and the ensemble made their way into their places for the opening. The lights went down, and the overture music began.

The rest of the show was a blur for Kurt. He knew he said his lines correctly and sang his songs in tune, though the lower notes were slight pitchy, but the only parts he truly remembered he watched from the wings. Blaine's Anthony was so innocent and romantic he made Kurt swoon, and Jeff played Todd's insanity just dark enough to be captivating rather than revolting. The little boy they'd found to play Toby charmed the pants off the audience, so much so that the darkest part of the musical – a child committing a murder – passed without the outcry it should have caused.

The energy the audience directed at Kurt was entirely different than when he'd made them laugh as Lucifer. They _hated_ him, and he loved them for it. They inspired Kurt to add a deeper sneer, a seedier tone, and they hated him even more for it. He and the audience, he felt, had developed a gleefully dark rapport. He would never get enough of this. No matter how many parts he played or shows he did, he would never tire of the audience's response to his characters.

After the reprise, they joined hands and bowed their thanks to the audience leaping out of their seats. It wasn't until Kurt saw the figures moving in the half-light that he realized what a feat they had pulled off. They had done justice to a Sondheim musical.

If they thought opening night was the highlight of their week, Saturday's performances eclipsed all expectations. Hana delivered the news that they had reached standing room only, and Declan supplied another stunning piece of news: there was still a line outside.

"This is normal for a musical, right?" Kurt asked.

His friends stared back wide-eyed. They shook their heads in unison.

"Maybe for the main cast's musical there's a full house every night and standing room only a couple of the shows, but … we're just students," Jeff stated.

Dagny gazed curiously at Kurt. "It's strange. You're so keyed in to Here, but you've only been here five months. How do you know exactly what everyone here wants?"

Kurt didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't selected the musical based on a potential audience. He'd picked a show with parts for the whole cast, but specifically a meaty role for himself to tackle. If anything, he'd taken the selfish route and lucked in to finding what the audience wanted.

Sunday's show went the same way, though there wasn't a line for the matinee. Taylor in the ticket booth had started sending away second time viewers on Cillian's orders. The students knew none of this until after their final performance when Declan approached the vanities were they sat peeling off prosthetics and cleaning off makeup.

"Stunning! Every one of you were phenomenal out there! If I didn't hate _Sweeney Todd_, I would have tried to come back more than once too. But I think I can sum up your performance best with a single word … _encore_."

It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. The cast jumped out of their seats and threw arms around each other's necks. Declan suffered a hug with thumps on the back from Nick and Jeff before shoving them down like they were excitably puppies.

"The main cast musical isn't for another two weeks because of May Day, which means the theater is standing empty next Friday and Saturday. So what do you say? Two more nights of _Sweeney Todd_?"

"Yes!" they shouted in unison.

Despite having several hours of daylight to burn off their energy and final exams beginning in the morning, the boys stayed awake long into the night doing nothing more than bouncing off the walls and jumping on the furniture. Nick and Jeff brought out the lightsabers for an epic battle, but Kurt favored a good old fashioned pillow fight.

"We are so going to pay for this tomorrow," Blaine laughed.

The clock read 1:24, and Nick and Jeff were still swinging lightsabers at each other and waving their hands in vague imitations of Jedis using the Force. Kurt collapsed onto the sofa beside his boyfriend and released his first yawn of the night. The previously pristine pillow he'd turned lumpy from hitting Blaine repeatedly lay in his lap.

"You're so cute when you're sleepy."

"I'll be decidedly less cute tomorrow if I don't get some rest now."

"Don't go," Blaine begged. "Sleep here. I make an awesome pillow."

Kurt was too tired to argue much. He settled onto Blaine's chest and pressed his face into the crook of his neck. His eyes fluttered shut even before Blaine wrapped him up in strong arms and pressed a goodnight kiss to his temple.

**o o o**

The boys did pay for their late night on Monday, but Kurt managed to pass his Linguistics test with a 95%, and Blaine, who had had so much practice conjugating Latin verbs recently, scored a 98% on his Latin final. Blaine also had a Literature final, which Nick also sat and complained about incessantly that night. He did not excel at writing long essays. Jeff yelled at them all to shut up, because he had his senior thesis to present on Thursday, which trumped all their finals put together.

After his Economics final on Wednesday, Principal Ferris called Kurt in to her office to discuss his summer semester schedule.

"I'm not doing summer school," he declared.

The principal smiled at him placidly. "Of course you are. You're College Track. So we'll sign you up for two classes Summer II since that's the off season. You need a math and hard science to complete your junior year credits. Here is the schedule of classes."

His friends were sympathetic when he told them about Summer session classes at lunch. They, too, had been harangued into signing up for two classes each, except for Jeff, who was graduating on Friday. Hana was not College Track, so escaped the torture, but Blaine and Nick would be joining him at school in July and August.

Kurt finished his finals on Wednesday, and Blaine on Thursday which ended their school year a day earlier than Nick and Jeff and a full month ahead of Hana. They elected to spend Friday celebrating surviving finals. Blaine secretly celebrated being rid of Parrish for a full four months.

During the day, Bella Notte was noticeably quieter than dinner. The owner, a pleasantly plump man called Luigi – Kurt hadn't honestly believed that was his name for months – showed them to booth at the back of the restaurant. He offered the boys such a friendly smile as he handed off the menus that Kurt believed him when he said:

"Beautiful couples deserve peace. I will make sure you have it here."

"_Grazie, _Luigi. You're a kind man."

"You Italian has gotten really good," Blaine complimented.

Kurt shrugged. "Professor Hirsch was right. Once you're familiar with Latin, its descendants are easy to pick up. Are you taking Linguistics next year?"

"Ugh! No talking about school! I still feel like my brain is going to explode from that awful Chemistry test. The whole time I was drawing compounds, I was also thinking up ways to murder Nick for talking me into taking it with him."

Kurt laughed appreciatively. "All right. No more talking about school. Can we talk about June? Are you going to play violin with the orchestra?"

"Eliso is too busy with _Guys and Dolls_ right now to bring it up, but she will. I actually wanted to talk to you about May. There's something really important –"

Luigi came by to deliver their drinks and take their orders. The two minutes it took to order plates of pasta and salad felt like ages to Kurt, who just wanted to know what important thing was happening in May.

"So, May," Kurt prompted.

"Right." Blaine shifted his eyes around nervously. "We have a really important Spring tradition here. It's especially a huge deal when you're sixteen, because it's the first year we're allowed to go, and … Kurt, will you be my May Prince?"

Kurt opened and closed his mouth twice. "What's a May Prince?"

Kurt didn't know what was so embarrassing, but the way Blaine fidgeted and fiddled with his straw was too cute. He grinned toothily at his nervous boyfriend.

"It's, umm … really silly, actually. As part of the celebration, a Queen of the May is crowned. It's this really cheesy romantic tradition that started a long time ago for guys to call their dates a Princess of the May to make her feel special too. I'm asking you, Kurt, if you'll be my date for the May Day festival on Sunday."

Kurt's smile broadened, and he clapped his hands excitedly. "Of course I'll be your date, Blaine! But … Sunday. Oh my God. What's the dress code for a really important pagan-turned-secular holiday like May Day?"

Blaine couldn't keep the amusement out of his smile and voice. "Pastels." The smile dropped off Kurt's face. "I'm kidding, Kurt."

"We've been over the rules about jokes and fashion, haven't we?"

"Yes, we have. I apologize. The dress code is … prom casual? It's outside and all day, so usually light clothes. Bright colors, but earthy too. Everyone wears a lot of flowers."

"Hmm. And phallic symbols abound?"

"Naturally. Although we're not supposed to point them out, especially not while the girls are tying ribbons around the Maypole."

They couldn't suppress their laughter, somewhat childish as it was. Their food arrived a few minutes later, and they made plans for May Day while they ate. Kurt wanted to know what to expect and to run some outfit ideas by Blaine.

"You're not going to have time to do that before Sunday. We still have two performances of _Sweeney Todd_," Blaine said.

"Please. I've outfitted an entire cast in _La Belle Époque _period costumes in three weeks and designed half of my own wardrobe. I think I can manage a _kilt_ in an afternoon. But we have to think about your outfit."

"I've already got it picked out. In case you said yes. It's very classic, with a May Day twist. You'll love it."

He surreptitiously tapped the deep purple-almost-black metal arms of his glasses. Kurt sucked in an excited breath and practically flailed on his side of the booth. Blaine took his hand over the table and rubbed his thumb across Kurt's palm.

"At the beginning of the school year, I was so excited for my junior prom," Kurt said, "but May Day is going to be so much better."


	37. Twenty Eight

**TWENTY-EIGHT**

May Day began with a knock at the door.

Blaine paused with his untied bowtie around his neck. A huge smile spread across his lips, and he darted for his bedroom door. He wrenched it open in time to see Kurt fleeing back to his own room. Blaine leapt over the basket of wildflowers on the floor and darted around the sofas. He caught Kurt's wrist just before his impish boyfriend escaped, and the other boy let himself be pulled back into Blaine's eager arms.

Blaine slid his arms around Kurt's waist and rested his cheekbone on Kurt's shoulder. His boyfriend smelled like citrus and spring flowers. Kurt arched an eyebrow and turned his head slightly.

"I think a kiss is customary now," Blaine purred.

"Shall I get you a box?"

Blaine spun Kurt around and pulled him into a kiss. Kurt protested audibly and pushed at Blaine's shoulders, but Blaine worked his tongue between his boyfriend's lips. Kurt made the "_mmm!_" sound again, but it turned into a pleasant hum when Blaine's thumbs massaged his hipbones.

"There are people here," Hana said flatly.

Her voice startled Blaine. He broke the kiss and turned to see Nick and Hana sitting on the sofa with an Algebra book open between them and sheets full of equations strewn over the coffee table. They were both too young for May Day, so had planned to spend the day catching up on the homework Hana had neglected during their run of _Sweeney Todd_.

"Aren't you two just too damned cute?" Nick asked, a laugh in his voice. "Nice interpretation of the tradition. I'll have to remember for next year that 'a kiss' can mean shoving my tongue down Dagny's throat."

Blaine ignored them, and said to Kurt, "I'll finish getting ready."

Dagny came downstairs with a stack of torn down cardboard boxes under her arm and roll of packing tape around her wrist. She set the items inside Jeff's bedroom door. They had plans to move Jeff's belongings from the student dormitory up to the spare bedroom in her apartment. As of tomorrow, they would be roommates.

"So what do you think?" Dagny asked.

She spun around in front of Nick. The white light cotton dress swished around her knees, and she'd weaved a crown of pale pink flowers into her blonde hair. He grinned up at her with a touch of sadness in his eyes.

"You're beautiful. I wish I could be there with you today."

"You could sneak in. You know half the school is going to try it," she said. "Some of them might even succeed, if they're good enough _actors_."

"I'm not sure my fifteen-year-old mind is ready for the debauchery of May Day."

Dagny flapped a hand at him. "There's nothing debauched about it. All the Beltane traditions have been removed. It's just an excuse for parents to leave their kids at home and get smashed in the middle of the day."

"Way to ruin it for them, Dagny!" Jeff exclaimed.

He toed off his shoes inside the door and held out a bouquet of flowers, then frowned at the flowers already in her hair.

"Are you kidding me? I went all the way over to the greenhouse and had to elbow Mrs. Brown in the face to get these."

"I'm so sure you did," Kurt laughed. "Those would look good in a crown. I'll get my spare greenery."

Jeff watched in horror as Kurt came back from his room with a circlet of leaves and began weaving the colorful flowers into the crown. He gaped at the other two earthy crowns Kurt had brought with him: one of heather, one of lily of the valley. Dagny bit her fist to keep from laughing. Plenty of men wore flower crowns, but not usually until they were well and truly drunk.

"Have fun today. Bring us back a sticky bun," Hana said, when all her older friends were ready to leave.

"Wait. Pictures!" Kurt cried. "This is supposed to be the equivalent of prom plus drunken chaperons, right? So we need pictures."

Nick went into his room and dug out the old Cannon that rarely made an appearance except for very special occasions, like opening nights and, apparently, May Day. Developing solution didn't turn up in Here very often anymore, and Ricky demanded everything but his customers' first born to develop the film. Nick checked the number of pictures left on the roll and groaned.

"Fine. But you're paying for this with your yellows," he said to Kurt. "One each, and then the roll is done."

When Kurt realized he only had one chance to look his best, he fussed over his outfit for five minutes. Now that it was time to pose for the cameras, Kurt wondered if he'd made a mistake opting for a contemporary kilt. The black looked great with the silver hoops and zips he'd sewn into it, and his knee high boots were perfect to complete the look, but something about the way it paired with the tight red waistcoat seemed off to him.

"Oh my God. I made a black, white, and red outfit! I'm a failure as a designer. You know who falls back on these colors? Unimaginative designers who want to trick you into not noticing how boring their designs are!"

"Kurt, you look stunning."

The countertenor eyed Blaine's clothes. Despite what Blaine had claimed, the pants were definitely black, not purple. Even so, the aquamarine and black vest and bowtie more than made up for it.

"Give me that vest."

"What? No! I like this vest," Blaine protested.

Kurt wouldn't take no for an answer. He would have wrestled it off Blaine if his boyfriend hadn't gone absolutely still and swallowed thickly when he started unbuttoning the waistcoat. He untied the bowtie next, and Blaine's eyes looked decidedly unfocused.

"Perfect," Kurt declared, as he adjusted the bowtie around his own neck. "Put on my waistcoat."

Blaine's fingers weren't capable of doing up the small buttons after so recently being semi-undressed by his boyfriend, so Kurt did it himself. Blaine looked stunning in the shiny, bright red waistcoat. Kurt grabbed the back of his neck and pressed a searing kiss to his boyfriend's lips.

"Red is your color."

They wandered out of the bathroom holding hands, both a little dazed by their handsome boyfriend and sporting goofy grins to prove it. Everyone stared at them in varying states of amusement.

"Did you just steal Blaine's clothes?" Hana asked incredulously. "Never mind. Stand against the wall for your picture."

They slipped their arms around each other's waists and smiled for the camera. At the last moment, Blaine's eyes flicked from the camera to Kurt and found his boyfriend gazing down at him. They didn't hear the camera click they were so caught up in each other. But then Nick shoved the roll of film into Kurt's hand and reminded him this was coming out of his yellows. Kurt tucked the roll into the pocket of his kilt and promised to drop it off at Ricky's on the way.

The heavy clouds threatened rain later in the day, but the weather had warmed up with the coming of May and a gentle breeze from the mountains tempered it perfectly. Crowds of pedestrians made their way across town and towards the lake. Kurt lost count of the number of wine barrels – _barrels_ – and kegs he counted.

"Find a European bartender," Dagny advised. "If you're there, they'll serve you. Americans get a little uptight about it sometimes. Nick's dad actually tried to legislate colored armbands so under twenty-ones couldn't drink. I'm pretty sure the rest of the Administrators laughed in his face."

Kurt didn't understand how the adults intended to police the May Day celebration. The lake was out in the open and accessible to anyone who could climb or be carried over a single hill. The point of the age restriction was lost to him, but then he hadn't understood what Dagny meant about Beltane traditions either.

The lake house was open and teeming with people taking burgers and hot dogs off the line of grills and helping themselves to drinks and side dishes on tables extending off the patio. Some rowboats and small sailboats glided around the lake, and large signs warning against swimming while drunk were posted every few feet. Many Maypoles like branchless trees dotted the area, their pastel rainbow ribbons trailing in the breeze. Musicians, many familiar to the teenagers, clustered around the Maypoles to play dances for groups of girls.

"So are we ready for the lamest May Day ever?" Jeff asked, holding his arm out for Dagny.

"Hey! Just because we're not going to swap spit doesn't mean May Day will be lame. We're gonna dance and then you get to watch me prance around a phallic symbol and drape a ribbon around it. So that'll be fun."

They agreed that lunch was the first order of business, and then they wandered around the area listening to the upbeat music and watching impromptu dances spring up wherever the merry tunes reached while they finished their plates.

It amazed Kurt how much wine and beer could be consumed in an hour, but the otherwise responsible adults of Here turned into sloppy drunks remarkably quickly. If he saw another overweight middle-aged man chug a beer and do a cannonball or soccer mom-turned-stripper dance routine, he would have permanent mental scaring.

"Let's find a European bartender," Blaine suggested.

They left Jeff and Dagny on the grassy dance floor and went in search of wine, because Kurt had tried his dad's beer once and hated it. Drinking wine would look so much more sophisticated, though that illusion was tempered somewhat by the plastic cup. Wine glasses did not mesh well with public drunkenness.

Kurt sipped at the red wine tentatively. It tasted nothing like he'd expected, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. There was a bitter aftertaste and less sweetness than he would have liked. Either this wasn't Blaine's first time drinking wine or he liked it a lot more than Kurt, because there was nothing hesitant about the way he drank from his cup.

"Don't the religious groups in town have something to say about this?" Kurt asked.

"Plenty. But they know better than to ruin May Day for everyone else. Every year we get a couple zealots carted off, and last year I heard someone gave a sermon while standing up in a rowboat. It took two hours to get him to shore, and he shouted hellfire and damnation for our pagan ways the whole time."

"Sounds lovely."

"Actually Ciara said it was hysterical. But she was probably drunk, so …."

The more Kurt saw of the May Day festivities, the greater his opinion that it had nothing to do with an ancient holiday at all and was a flimsy excuse for grown adults to act like frat boys again. He also noticed that very few people born in Here were in attendance, and he began to wonder if this was really a party at all, or if it was a kind of wake for their old lives.

Kurt held his breath as he downed his third glass of wine. The bartender refilled it without him having to ask.

"Kurt! Dance with me, Kurt!"

Kurt thought there was some reason they shouldn't do that, but he couldn't remember what it was exactly, and Blaine was being so handsy and giving him the best ever puppy dog eyes. Kurt finished off his fourth cup and flapped his hand at Blaine.

"Watch this!"

He skipped off to the nearest Maypole. The group of girls dancing there welcomed him with giggles and handed him a pale blue ribbon to hold. Kurt skipped and twirled with the girls, tangling his ribbon with theirs and decorating the Maypole with a beautiful pastel rainbow. Blaine cheered from the sidelines and joined the girls and Kurt when they beckoned him over.

"Are you boyfriends?" a twenty-something brunette called over the music.

"Kurt is my boyfriend," Blaine slurred. "He's so strong and smart and handsome and _awesome_."

"You look so cute together," she replied.

"I'm _so_ in love with him. It's like, like I don't have my heart anymore. Like I took it out of my chest and gave it to him, and I can still feel it beat because he's holding it, and if he ever stopped holding my heart, I would _die_."

The girls who heard broke into happy giggles. Clearly, they understood the feeling.

Before long, men and women of all ages were breaking tradition and dancing around the Maypole with the girls. Blaine gave up his ribbon to a hulking bear of a man and skipped beneath the flying ribbons to Kurt on the opposite side of the dancing circle. His arms slipped around Kurt's waist, and they tumbled out of the ring onto the soft grass some fifty feet away, both breathless and grinning widely.

"I need more wine," Blaine declared.

"No! Don't go!" Kurt whined.

Blaine dropped back onto the grass and gazed up at the darkening sky that seemed to be spinning in the aftermath of wine and skipping in a circle. Clouds raced across the sky, and a flash of bright lightning streaked across the sky. Voices in the distance started shouting at the boaters, who didn't seem to pay them any mind.

"Uh oh," Kurt giggled. "It's gonna rain."

Blaine found something about that hilarious. He rolled onto his side and laughed silently into Kurt's shoulder. Kurt slipped off the glasses digging into his clavicle and put them on.

"You have terrible eyesight!"

"Wow. You look so sexy in glasses."

"Not as sexy as you."

"But that would mean that I look sexy all the time, and I … Oh! You're the most awesome boyfriend _ever_! I wanna dance with you."

Blaine stumbled to find his footing when he leapt up too quickly, but he pulled Kurt up after him, and they loped across the grass to the Maypole where all ages and genders danced with ribbons. Somewhere during the dance, Blaine had lost his heather crown, so Kurt draped a violet ribbon around his forehead and shoulders as a replacement.

The first fat raindrops began to fall twenty minutes later while the police were still attempting to get any of the boaters to come back to the wharf for their own safety. Some of the attendees fled for cover, but most remained out in the open, eating and dancing and swimming without a care for the thunder rumbling overhead and lightening ripping through the prematurely dark sky.

The rain, however, was too cold to be ignored for long. The stingingly cold drops sobered up the less drunk in attendance, and the muddying ground made walking unpleasant, much less dancing. The crowd thinned out quickly. Kurt decided it was time to leave when the dancing lawns turned into slides and pits for wrestling.

"This isn't my kind of party anymore!" he yelled over the thundering rain. His breath misted in front of him.

Blaine nodded. "Let's talk Dagny into having the rest of May Day in her apartment. She actually cleaned it since Jeff is moving in tomorrow."

But Kurt and Blaine never made it home.

Between the greengrocers and printers on Kings Street, five figures stepped out of the alley as Kurt and Blaine approached through the heavy downpour. The boys came up short, squinting through the sheets of rain to see who walked five abreast blocking their path, their hands tightening together as twin pits dropped into their stomachs.

Parrish stepped into the yellow halo cast by the lamppost. The heavy rain had plastered his hair to his forehead and turned the sandy locks dark, but his eyes were cold and hard as ever. He shouted to be heard over the rain pelting the cobblestones and rooftops. He pointed at Blaine as he yelled.

"I told you! I told you to keep your perversions to yourselves. I told you I would kill him if you didn't."

Kurt's head snapped to the left. Blaine had gone deadly pale in a span of ten seconds. His wide eyes betrayed his fear and panic, and his lips trembled, though not from the cuttingly cold rain.

"And there you were all day," Parrish screamed, pointing vaguely in the direction of the lake. "In front of everybody! Ignoring what I told you!"

Dex and Perkins grabbed Kurt's arms.

"_No!_" Blaine roared. "Don't you lay one finger on him! I swear to God, I'll end you, Parrish!"

Ryland and Tanner struggled to hold Blaine back, but it was two against one in the end, and they were both dull young men with nothing better to do than lift weights and attack punching bags all day. He put up a fight, as he had when he'd first arrived and they'd cornered him behind the school, but he lost now like he lost then.

Parrish wasted no time. Unlike villains in comic books and action/adventure movies, he had no desire to draw out the process with a self-aggrandizing speech. He cocked his arm back and forward in a flash. His punch connected with Kurt's cheek. His head snapped backwards, and flecks of blood rained onto the street and ran like rivers through the uneven cobblestones.

"_NO!_ He didn't do anything! It was my fault!"

Blaine screamed the words again and again in infinite combinations until his voice went hoarse and thin. Desperate tears mixed with the rain on his face, but Parrish ignored him. His fist pounded into Kurt over and over: his face, his stomach, his sides. When Perkins and Dex released his arms, Kurt crumpled to the ground and retched. Parrish followed him to the ground.

Blaine knew what came next. He fought against Ryland and Tanner like a caged animal gone mad with confinement. He threw elbows, kicked and stomped, jerked wildly for any chance of freedom. He felt a sharp pain like something tearing inside his arm, but he refused to give up and watch this happen. Above all, he screamed. He screamed like a warrior charging into battle.

"Shut him up or someone will hear!" Dex yelled.

Ryland stupidly brought his hand up to Blaine's mouth, and Blaine sunk his teeth into the fleshy palm. Ryland screamed too, and his grip slackened just enough that Blaine broke free and careened at Parrish. Perkins grabbed for him, but missed. Blaine and Parrish went tumbling. Blaine gained dominance and pinned Parrish to the street.

"I told you!" Blaine thundered, "not – to lay – a fucking – finger – on – him!"

He punctuated each word with a punch to Parrish's solar plexus. The boy beneath him heaved and retched with each contact. Hands pulled Blaine up, and he rounded for a fight, but Dex and Tanner danced away from the manic boy while Perkins pulled Parrish up off the ground.

"He's crazy!" Parrish shrieked brokenly. "Get me away!"

The bullies retreated into the cover of the rain, at least two of them injured. Blaine screamed into the storm.

"Coward! You're a fucking coward, Parrish!"

A pitiful cough behind him cleared Blaine's mind of blind fury. Kurt lay on his back, staring up into the falling rain. Blood stained his mouth, and each breath fought with the urge to cough and sent his body into convulsions. Blaine fell to his knees beside his boyfriend.

"Kurt. Kurt, I'm so sorry," Blaine cried. "Please hold on, Kurt. I'm going get help. You'll be fine. Just … _please_."

Kurt's lips moved, and Blaine leaned in close to hear the words. The simple sentence sent waves of shame rolling through him.

He hooked Kurt's arm over his shoulder and pulled his boyfriend upright. Kurt howled in agony, but cried harder when Blaine tried to lay him down again. In hindsight, knowing what he knew about their injuries, Blaine would never know how they made it five blocks to the hospital. He only heard nine words on repeat the whole time.

"_See. You have some fight in you after all._"


	38. Interlude: Burt

**INTERLUDE**

The florescent lights cast dirty greenish yellow light onto the age-stained eggshell walls of Detective Hart's office where Burt sat across the desk from the solemn woman shuffling through papers in a case file that had reduced Kurt Hummel's life to an alphanumeric title. Agent Barring stood behind the desk, half-leaning on the window ledge, and the private investigator Burt had hired, Woodsen, sat in the uncomfortable chair next to him.

They all told Burt the same thing.

Six months had passed since Kurt had vanished into thin air. Detective Hart had reviewed the case file on schedule and found no new information. Agent Barring had contacted field offices around the country and added Kurt to the list of missing children, but no one had seen or heard anything. Woodsen had reworked the case from the beginning – interviewing the same suspects and potential witnesses, following all the same leads to their eventual dead ends.

Kurt's case would be reviewed again in another three months.

Burt left the police station with a gnawing in his stomach. It tried to devour him from the inside out, and if Burt were honest with himself, it was damned close to succeeding.

He left the parking lot, but instead of driving home and burying himself in work – laying the carpet in the renovated attic – he found himself parked across the street from William McKinley High School. As the buses pulled out and a stream of high school drivers inched out of the parking lot, Burt pretended that if he searched hard enough he would see a black Navigator blaring showtunes turn left onto Ellers to drop off Tina and Mercedes.

Carole was already home from her shift when Burt walked through the door. She'd wanted to come with him to the police station for the review, but she'd been scheduled in the ER. Burt had said that if her presence could save someone else's kid coming in from a car wreck or attack or bad fall, she should be there instead.

She still had on her scrubs and was rummaging through the stack of still unpacked boxes looking for casual clothes to change into when he found her in their bedroom. Thumps overhead told Burt that Finn had come home too, and probably he'd stepped on another stray staple from the drywall they'd put up together last week. He needed to lay the carpet before the clumsy kid permanently injured himself.

Carole dropped the jeans she'd fished out of the box when she saw him leaning against the jamb and running his hands over his balding head. The baseball cap he tossed onto the bureau.

"What did Detective Hart have to say?"

Like a brick wall crumpling to dust, months of worry and grief converged on Burt. His façade cracked. Tears streamed freely down his haggard, lined face and sobs tore from his throat. He wept the words everyone had been thinking since the forty-eight hour mark had expired in November, but that he'd never admitted to himself were true.

"I'm never going see my son again."


	39. Twenty Nine

**TWENTY-NINE**

_Kurt_.

Blaine tried to scream the name, but his voice didn't work. A pattern of beeps quickened at his left ear, and he struggled with his eyelids. The world was a white blur punctuated with streaks of dark grey. He fought against lethargy and a swift, sudden aching through his upper body.

_Kurt_.

"Blaine?"

With great difficulty, Blaine rolled his neck to the left. A fuzzy outline of blue and peach lay in a bed – a hospital bed – four feet away.

"Kurt," Blaine croaked.

The events of the last however many hours played on fast forward behind his eyes. Stumbling through the rain into the hospital … the nurses lifting Kurt onto a gurney and rushing away … a nurse struggling to keep Blaine from following … a concerned doctor talking about surgery being urgent … a mask being lowered over his mouth and nose … and then blissful nothing.

"I'm here," Kurt said. "I was so scared when I woke up and you weren't out of surgery. No, Blaine, don't try to move!"

An anguished cry broke through Blaine's lips. He blinked furiously at the ceiling to stave off sudden tears, and his chest heaved as he rode out the waves of pain. When he could, he looked down at his body. His left shoulder and upper arm were wrapped in bandages and gauze so thick he looked twice as large on that side of his body. His right hand was immobilized in a splint.

"What the hell is this?" Blaine asked, his voice still laden with pain.

"They wouldn't tell me anything, but Ciara was here about an hour ago. Apparently, you tore a tendon in your arm and dislocated three of your fingers."

It came back to Blaine, the memory of a tearing sensation in arm as he tried to break free of Ryland and Tanner's hold and the snapping pain in his hand as he pummeled Parrish.

"Oh."

"Dr. Henson should be in soon again. He'll tell you all about it. It's … it's not good, Blaine. He told Ciara – "

"How are you?" Blaine blurted. "When we got here, they took you away so fast, and they wouldn't tell me what was going on. They just kept trying to get me to lay down."

"So they could take you into surgery, Blaine," Kurt said, a note of disapproval in his tone. "Which is where they took me. A fragment from a broken rib punctured a blood vessel. They stitched it up, and I'll be fine in about six weeks."

"What else? I don't have my glasses. I can't see you, Kurt."

"Well … Nothing. Just that."

"Bullshit."

"Blaine!"

"I'm serious, Kurt!" Blaine growled. "I had to watch the whole thing, and there was blood everywhere. I know there's more to it than a broken rib."

After a moment and a huff, Kurt answered. "Mostly a lot of bruises all over my torso. I have stitches in my lip too. Honestly, Blaine, my injuries look ugly, but yours are much worse. I can't believe … Why did you keep fighting after you tore your tendon? Why did you keep hitting him after you dislocated the first finger?"

Blaine tried to shrug, and regretted it instantly. His left shoulder protested violently, and he felt bile burning the back of his throat.

"I didn't know. I felt it, but it didn't hurt at the time. I just … He did the same thing to me the first time, Kurt. I knew what he was going to do next. I couldn't watch him hurt you like that."

Dr. Henson and a nurse came in together. The nurse slipped Blaine's glasses onto his face, and the world came into sharp relief. He turned instantly to Kurt and bit back a gasp. Except for the line of black stitches in his lip, he had no visible injuries, but pain clouded his eyes and put shadows on his face.

"I'm glad you're awake, Blaine," Dr. Henson said. Norwegian colored his English. "I performed your surgery last night. I was able to reattach the tendon in your shoulder. You'll be in a sling for about a month, and then we'll talk about physical therapy. I also reset your fingers. You'll have that splint for about three weeks, if all goes well. Are you right-handed?"

"Unfortunately."

"I want to be honest with you, Blaine. The physical therapy for your hand and shoulder will last several months. You'll have to come here and do exercises at home. And with these types of injuries, you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that you might never have full strength or range of motion again."

"But he's a musician!" Kurt protested. "He plays piano and violin."

He tried to sit forward, but let out a cry and pressed a hand to his injured ribs. The nurse, Rose, bustled over to ease him back down onto his bed. Dr. Henson made his exit, but Blaine hardly noticed. Right then, he was more concerned with Kurt's pain than his musical future.

For the next three days, Kurt and Blaine lay in their beds not speaking much and alternating between sleeping and fits of restlessness that caused considerable pain if indulged. By Thursday, the lingering discomfort of their surgeries had faded and pain medicine dulled the incessant ache. Owing to his injuries in both arms, Blaine became horrifyingly familiar with the nursing staff, a fact which caused Kurt's ribs considerable agony as he tried not to laugh.

Their friends came to visit at least once a day, though they usually couldn't stay long because of rehearsals. They brought plenty of movie musicals and even managed to find a current issue of _Vogue_. Rose flew into a rage when she came in to check on her patients and found Blaine had scooted into bed with Kurt so they could look at the brand new fashions together.

"Oh my God, Kurt!" Blaine exclaimed, gesturing to a picture with his splinted hand. "You did that first! Cavalli owes you royalties."

"Get back into your bed!" Rose thundered, while Kurt suppressed his laughter and clutched at his aching ribs.

There were even less pleasant aspects of their recovery than bathing and using the restroom with assistance. The police came by as soon as Dr. Henson gave clearance to ask Kurt and Blaine about the attack. Hate crimes, they explained, were taken very seriously in a town as internationally diverse as Here. They wanted repeated descriptions of all interactions with Parrish and his gang, and every follow-up carried a hinted inquiry – 'why didn't you say anything sooner?' – and a veiled answer – 'because you wouldn't have done anything' – which left both sides frustrated and feeling misused.

"I've never been hit before," Kurt admitted. "I've been thrown into dumpsters and against lockers, but no one has ever made a fist and punched me before. Why didn't you tell me Parrish had threatened to kill us?"

Blaine slowly turned away from the empty place where the police officers had stood a moment before. He didn't know what Kurt wanted more: a reaction to his confession or an answer to his question.

"You. He threatened to kill you if I didn't restrain myself. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to make you worry."

"You don't have to protect me," Kurt said hotly.

"Of course I do! And you have to protect me. Don't tell me you wouldn't have torn your arm out of socket and smashed three of your fingers for me, because I know you would have," Blaine retorted. His voice and temper quieted. "That's who we are, Kurt. We're _that_ couple."

"Get over here."

Blaine balked at the suggestion. "Rose just – "

"Fine. I'll come over there."

At the first sign of Kurt scooting gingerly out of bed, Blaine swung his legs over the side of his bed and raced across the four foot gap between them. He tried not to jostle Kurt as he settled into a comfortable position with only his legs and one elbow to use as leverage.

"I wish we could cuddle, but I don't want to hurt your ribs."

"Or your shoulder."

They settled for laying side-against-side with their arms looped together and _Enchanted_ playing on the TV screen.

**o o o**

Kurt and Blaine were in the hospital for a week, which they thought was excessive, but Dr. Henson deemed necessary for two teenagers without constant guardian supervision. Only after he'd removed their surgical stitches and replaced Blaine's bandages with a more manageable soft cast did he sign their release papers.

Kurt could walk, but only slowly and with shuffling steps. Cillian cheekily offered to let Kurt borrow his cane. Blaine sometimes felt shooting pains through his arms, but only had serious trouble with opening doors, and Kurt was more than willing to hold doors open for him.

Jeff had moved in with Dagny during those two weeks, leaving Nick alone for a fortnight. Not surprisingly, the apartment was a mess without Kurt to organize and enforce the chore schedule. To make up for his lapse, Nick pushed Kurt's bed into Blaine's room so they could convalesce together. He put Pavarotti's cage on the nightstand between their beds and all the flowers and balloons from their hospital room on the desk and window ledge.

"This doesn't mean you can skip dusting," Kurt grumbled.

"This doesn't mean you can stay up all night making out," Nick sassed, gesturing between their beds.

Kurt pointed at the angry red scar on his lip with raised brows and a dark expression. Nick wisely went up to Jeff and Dagny's apartment for a few hours.

"At least we can finally get a good night's sleep without the nurses coming in to wake up us every four hours for tests or for no reason at all," Blaine sighed.

"Can you? Can you get a good night's sleep knowing Parrish and the others are still out there because they gave alibis for each other and the police let it go?"

Kurt refused to meet Blaine's eye. He stared resolutely up at the ceiling even after Blaine put in the effort to shuffle to the edge of his bed. He hated this feeling of being unsafe in his own home. Abuse in school hallways was nothing new to Kurt, but he'd always had his dad's comforting protection at home. Karofsky and Azimio and the other jocks wouldn't dare come to his home, but they didn't have parental supervision here. The adults didn't even live on the same floor as the students.

"What I told the police is true. Parrish was running scared after I hit him. Hana said he's docile as a dormouse at school – her words, obviously. He's not coming after us again, Kurt."

"I thought the same thing about Karofsky after New Directions did Gaga and Kiss. But he was still coming after me up to the day I arrived here. All that stuff about facing your bullies, it doesn't work, Blaine. You can't punch the homophobe out of him, and we're still gay."

Blaine didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

**o o o**

Kurt dreamed about home every night for the next week. Every night he could sleep, that is. More often, he lay awake listening to Blaine's even breathing and wondering how he could sleep so peacefully with their attackers on the loose.

On those nights when his exhaustion betrayed him, Kurt went back to Ohio.

He dreamed of a planner full of wedding cutouts and giving his dad dance lessons. Finn stopped being a limited little boy and became a man at the reception. They were friends … they were _brothers_, and Carole was a beautiful bride. And later, sitting across the table from his dad, wide-eyed and cheeks tinted red with embarrassment, as his dad gave him sage dating advice: "You matter, Kurt."

He dreamed of sitting in the audience – in a ridiculous navy blazer, no less – watching New Directions perform a song he'd never heard before, though something told him he'd helped write it. He had said, "I'll get you back when I'm your boss" to his bullies more than once. Later – and this was how Kurt knew these were dreams and nothing more – he sang on stage at the Gershwin Theater with his best friend, Rachel Berry.

But there were times the dreams turned into nightmares too. Though nothing particularly shattering happened in most of the dreams, Kurt always woke up with a sick coil in his stomach that took hours, sometimes all day, to pass.

He'd made it to Dalton Academy after all, but he wandered around the halls lost and learned nothing about the Warblers. All he had as a souvenir for his effort was a quarter less tank of gas and a brochure. In two separate dreams, he stood in the McKinley courtyard staring up the steps expectantly for hours, but nothing significant happened. More nights than he could count, he sat alone in a coffee shop he'd never been to before, staring balefully at the empty chair across the table for two.

"You look exhausted. Did you sleep at all?" Blaine asked.

They were on their way back to the hospital to see Dr. Henson for their two week check-ups. Blaine was a ball of energy. He was having his splint removed, provided all the bones and ligaments in his hand had healed properly. Kurt would just be prodded and would promise the doctor his ribs felt much better, but the bruises still hurt. They had turned a sickly purple-ish black color over the week, which Kurt knew was a good sign, but looked terrible.

"All night, actually, but I had the worst dream."

Blaine stopped bouncing on the balls of his feet. "What was it about?"

"Don't laugh. I was walking through my old school alone, but I kept pointing out perfectly normal things, like the choir room. I think I was meant to be giving a tour, but there was absolutely no one with me. It just felt … wrong. Like so wrong it makes my skin crawl just thinking about it."

"Huh." Kurt cocked an eyebrow, so Blaine went on. "In my dream, I was at prom with a bunch of kids I've never seen in my life. I was there alone, but I don't think I was supposed to be. I had that same feeling when I woke up. What do you think that means?"

"I –"

"Kurt," a nurse called. "Dr. Henson is ready for you."

Kurt followed the nurse back to the exam room where he was poked, prodded, and X-rayed. The doctor determined that he was healing nicely, prescribed a milder painkiller than what he'd been taking, and sent him on his way. Blaine went in next and came out an hour later waving his splint-free hand. His fingers had been buddy taped, but he could use parts of his hand now.

"I have a new prescription," Kurt said.

Kurt still walked slowly with his ribs a month away from being healed, and Blaine patiently kept pace with him.

"So you were telling me about your dream theory," Blaine prompted.

"Right. Well, I've been thinking …. What if we can leave Here?"

Blaine sighed deeply and cast mournful eyes at Kurt. "Kurt. Kurt, we've been over this dozens of times. No one has ever been able to leave Here. Obsessing over this, Kurt, is a way into madness. It happened to Dagny, and she lost years of her life. Please, Kurt. Don't do this to yourself."

Kurt went quiet as they rode the elevator down to the basement and began the long walk under florescent lights to the small counter in the west corner of the hospital. He considered dropping the subject until later, but a desire to speak his mind propelled him to continue.

"This isn't the way life is meant to be lived, Blaine. Being cut off from family and friends, that's not a happy life."

"Maybe not, but it's how our lives ended up."

"That's the problem! Everyone here is content to be passive. They're told they can't leave, so they give up hope of ever going home. They don't even try. Everyone who has ever ended up here has lost their way. Once they got here, they stopped looking. They found a safe haven, and maybe some of them truly have found better lives here. But you and I, Blaine, we have the same life here we could have in Ohio or Alberta, except we don't have the loved ones we left behind."

Blaine shook his head slightly. "What you're saying makes sense, Kurt, but it can't be done. You tried leaving once before, remember? It's just not possible. Listen, please, Kurt. You're upset right now. You're emotional, and you're in pain. I don't blame you for wanting to get back to your dad. But you've told me time and again that he wouldn't want you wasting your days. Talk to Cillian. He'll tell you that no one has ever left Here in the forty-three years he'd been here."

Kurt would have stamped his foot in frustration if it wouldn't jostle his sore ribs. "People 'lose themselves' all the time, but they find themselves again just as often."

"How do you even do that?" Blaine cried, equally frustrated. "I'm not the same kid I was when I arrived. You're not even the same, and you've only been here seven months. How do we get back to that place to 'find ourselves'?"

They had reached the pharmacy at last. Kurt held open the door for Blaine, who passed through with a tight smile and wave at the pharmacist behind the counter, while craning his neck to still listen to Kurt.

"It's not about going back to who you used to be. It's about embracing who you're becoming. I think we're brought here to learn something about ourselves, but we're not meant to stay forever. I should be on Broadway in New York City becoming a star of the next generation of musical theater actors. I could become a creative visionary with the influence to change the game forever for people like me. And I'm meant to do it all with the ones who have loved and supported me forever."

Kurt stepped over the threshold behind Blaine, but he never entered the pharmacy.

**END OF BOOK ONE**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So we have come to the end of Book One together. I can't express how deeply moved I am by all of the alerts, favorites, reviews, recommendations, and tumblr questions. I'm so, so, so touched that you're enjoying this bit of fantasy that I've dreamed up. If you've stuck with me this far, I hope you'll continue reading through Books Two and Three. Don't forget that you can ask questions about the story (or anything else) on my tumblr: arainymonday. I would love to get to know some more readers, so don't be shy! Introduce yourselves and let's be friends.


	40. Book Two:  Yellow Brick Road

**BOOK TWO**  
><strong>YELLOW BRICK ROAD <strong>

**INTERLUDE**

The faculty chairs meeting didn't end until close to seven o'clock, and George Anderson had three action items to complete before he could leave campus for the night. He trudged back to this office in the early darkness huddled into his coat and dutifully brought up the spreadsheets and annual reports he needed to complete for his meeting with the Dean in the morning. He wanted to blow off the work and go home, but the Music department relied on him to justify their budget requests with enrollment and donation figures.

Two hours later, George hit the print button and packed up his briefcase while the pages fed out of his little desktop printer. He had to wait for another five minutes for the final assessment report to be deposited on the tray, and then he hurried out of his office like the hounds of Hell were behind him. He hadn't even had dinner yet, he lamented, and Mary would be at the homeless youth benefit until late.

George hit one on his speed dial as he pulled out of the parking lot and turned left onto Maple. Blaine didn't answer the house phone, so George hit three and listened to the ringing in his ear until he took a left onto Ashland. The phone went to voicemail, but George didn't bother with a message. He'd be home in fifteen minutes and could chortle about his newly teenaged son's penchant for blaring Sondheim and Menken like they were Metallica.

The house was dark when George pulled into the driveway and hit the clicker to open the garage door. He wasn't entirely surprised. If Blaine couldn't hear the phone ringing, he was probably holed up in his room listening to showtunes and gazing longingly at the poster of Zac Efron he thought his parents didn't know about.

The house was also silent. On any other night, George would come home to deafening music and Blaine's clear treble singing beneath the decibels. If Mary was home, she would give him a pointed look, as if to say 'he's _your_ son.' George loved those exasperated expressions. It was true that Blaine looked and acted – save for the Zac Efron crush – like George so much so that even total strangers felt compelled to comment.

"Are you home, Slightly?" George called.

He cringed at the nickname. He'd momentarily forgotten how sensitive Blaine was about his diminutive size. It couldn't be helped, not with equally diminutive parents, and Blaine would come to terms with it one day, but until then George had to stop calling him Slightly and pushing him to read _The Hobbit_. To a grown man comfortable with himself, it was all in good humor, but not to a teenage boy.

"Blaine?" George called again.

He rapped lightly on the bedroom door, and when he received no answer, pushed the door open a crack. It was dark as the rest of the house. George flipped on the light. The sight of their son's messy bedroom would send Mary over the edge. George only noticed the lack of backpack where Blaine always left it after school until he started his homework after dinner.

He hovered just inside the door, pondering what his next move should be. George had always known this day would come, when Blaine stayed out after curfew and left his parents to worry, but he'd expected it to come after a football game or school dance, not an ordinary Tuesday night. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed.

"Mary, have you seen Blaine tonight?"

"George, Darling, I'm busy with the benefit right now. Can you call me back in an hour?"

George took that to mean that Mary had not seen Blaine. He tapped the phone against his chin and decided nine-thirty was not too soon to call around looking for his son. George had picked up on the fact that Blaine didn't have many friends anymore, but he called everyone he could think of regardless. No one had seen Blaine after classes, or at least they didn't admit to it, except for Jackson, who told George exactly what had happened in the locker room, up to the point when he'd left with Blaine's permission.

The next forty-eight hours were a blur. There were detectives and forensic crews in and out of the Anderson's home at all hours of the day and night, interviews that felt more like interrogations, and so much fear and worry George felt like his insides were being slowly torn apart. The police questioned the football players Jackson named, and the boy himself came to the Andersons with a tearful apology for leaving Blaine at all.

But all the questions and investigation turned up nothing. Every possible scenario led inevitably to a dead end. The crucial forty-eight hours had passed, the platitudes about continuing to search and keeping hope grew tiresome and were replaced with referrals to support groups and promises to continue investigating any new leads.

Four years passed.

Blaine had been reduced to an alphanumeric code on a missing persons file that detectives pulled out once a year to review, and every year they told George and Mary Anderson the same thing.

Blaine Anderson was nowhere that could be found.


	41. Thirty

**THIRTY**

"I don't disagree with you, Kurt, but …"

Blaine paused. A quality in the room felt wrong somehow, like something important was missing. He turned fully away from the pharmacist, ignoring the genial man's offer to assist him. The space behind Blaine where Kurt should have been shuffling through the door was empty. Blaine's eyes darted around the hallway on the other side of the door.

"Kurt?" he called.

Again ignoring the pharmacist, Blaine made his way back into the hallway and turned in a circle. The only door leading off the corridor that Kurt could have reached that quickly with his battered ribs was the women's restroom.

It wouldn't be totally unlike Kurt to use the ladies restroom, though he usually only did that when Hana or Dagny were with him. But if he was ill, and the painkillers did have a tendency to bring on vertigo, he might make an exception. Tentatively, Blaine pushed the door open a crack.

"Hello?" No one answered, so Blaine crept inside. "Hello? Kurt, are you in here?"

He bent double and peered under the stalls, but the restroom was empty. With furrowed brow, Blaine came back into the hallway and stared up the corridor, wondering if Kurt could have made it to the men's restroom after all. He went to check, just to be sure, but Kurt wasn't there either.

Irritation and concern niggled at Blaine at once. The logical part of his brain told him nothing drastic could have happened. Kurt had been right behind him. It was probably just a joke. Kurt had been talking about going back to the other side, and then disappeared. It seemed too cruel a joke for Kurt to play, though.

Making up his mind at last, Blaine darted into the pharmacy. The man behind the counter looked on with worry on his brow.

"Can I help you with something, young man?"

"Have you seen a teenage boy in here?" The pharmacist cocked an eyebrow, so Blaine clarified, "Other than me. He's about two inches taller, brown hair, blue-ish eyes. He was wearing a white coat and black top hat."

"Maybe I should call a doctor?" the pharmacist asked pointedly.

Blaine harrumphed and spat sarcastically, "Thanks for your help."

The boy beat a hasty retreat from the pharmacy before a psychiatrist with burly orderlies showed up and raced up the hallway towards the main floor of the hospital. His quick pace jostled his shoulder, but he ignored the tingling pain. Now that he thought about Kurt's outfit, he realized how easy it would be to spot him in a crowd.

Blaine tore through the hospital looking right and left for any sign of Kurt's top hat. He tried all the places he thought Kurt was likely to go: cafeteria, coffee stand, reception, gift store, pediatric ward nurses' station, and even their former room.

"Blaine," Rose called gently. "Is everything okay, honey?"

"Rose! I need you to page Kurt. He's somewhere in the hospital, but I can't find him."

Rose took him by the elbow not in a sling and led him behind the nurses' station where she pushed him into a chair. Blaine caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective surface of the rotation schedule on the white board. Irritation had given way to blind panic, and it was written over his face.

"We'll find Kurt. You stay here, sweetie. Drink this."

She thrust a glass of room temperature water in front of him. He struggled to manage it with taped fingers, but eventually balanced the glass on his palm and tipped it to his lips. She made an approving sound in the back of her throat and went to the intercom.

"Paging Dr. Gale to the Pediatric ward. Dr. Gale to the Pediatric ward." Blaine furrowed his brow, but Rose patted his shoulder consolingly. "We can't go shouting about missing patients over the intercom."

Within the next quarter hour, orderlies and nurses with noncritical patients stopped by the station to speak to Rose in low voices. Blaine didn't know what they were talking about, but apparently there was some protocol for searching the hospital for missing patients. He was getting impatient, which Rose noticed. She kept foisting glasses of water into his hand.

"Have you found Kurt or not?" he snapped after half an hour.

Rose pursed her lips. "It's a big hospital, Blaine."

He set the glass down with a thud and stood up abruptly. "Then I'll find him myself."

Rose shouted after him, but Blaine wasn't listening to her protests. Maybe Kurt had gone outside to get some air. He couldn't believe that hadn't occurred to him before, and he raced to the ground floor and outside. The benches along the path to the street were empty, but around the west side of the hospital was a garden, and Blaine just knew that's where Kurt would be waiting, probably looking a little green and apologetic, but otherwise just fine.

"Kurt!" Blaine cried, rounding the corner.

His smile faded. Three patients strolled around the garden, and a visitor pushed a fourth in a wheelchair, but Kurt was not among them. Blaine brought his right hand up to his hair and carded his taped fingers through his curls. He turned in full circles, desperate for a flash of a top hat and the adorable toothless smile of the boy he loved more than anyone else in the world.

Blaine didn't realize he'd turned and fled from the hospital at a full sprint until his feet landed on Soren's doorstep, and pain surged through his hand as he pounded on the front door. Gabriel answered the door with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity on his face.

"Blaine! What's so important you have to bang down our door?" the professor asked genially.

"Kurt! I can't find Kurt!" Blaine panted.

Gabriel ushered him into the house and onto the couch. Like Rose, he seemed to think a glass of water would make the situation better. Blaine waved off the proffered drink. Gabriel shouted something in Danish, but Blaine only recognized his own name and Soren's in the jumble of foreign words. From overhead came the sound of heavy footsteps, and then Soren appeared on the stairs. He took a seat next to his husband and across from Blaine.

"Tell us what happened," Gabriel prompted.

Blaine started from the beginning, about going to the hospital for their checkups and prescriptions, about Kurt's theory on going back to the other side, and about his search of the hospital. When he was done, Soren and Gabriel gabbed at each other in Danish.

"Do you think … Could Kurt be having a laugh?" Soren inquired.

"Not like this. He would never do something this cruel. Something's happened. I don't know what, but … We have to find him! He's still really injured. He could be sick or hurt or … or …"

Blaine shuddered. He couldn't even think it. His chin dropped to his chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears. He'd told Kurt not to worry and that everything would be okay. But what if Kurt was right and Parrish came back for a second round?

"I am going to speak to Anjali. We'll find Kurt, wherever he is," Soren promised.

"I'm going with you," Blaine replied firmly.

Soren looked like he wanted to protest, but agreed at last with a nod. Gabriel put a comforting hand on Blaine's shoulder.

Together, they left the house and hurried to the Administration and up to the third floor where the Security Administrator kept her office. Blaine knew Anjali from all the performances she had come to see. Jeff's former foster mother could always be counted on to cheer the loudest and longest for all of her charges, past and present. Her always present smile slipped when she glanced up at the three men standing in front of her desk.

"You should call your Chief of Police into this meeting," Soren said grimly.

"What is going on?" Anjali asked.

"What's going on is that Mickelson turned a blind eye to a hate crime, and now one of the victims has gone missing!" Blaine snapped.

Anjali's eyes widened, and she made a quick motion to her administrative assistant, who fairly bolted out of the room to find Chief Mickelson. The Administrator motioned the men into chairs around her desk. She had a thin, pinched look about her.

"You know I didn't agree with him," she said fervently, but quietly. "I wouldn't have him in this job at all if the decision were mine."

Soren nodded curtly and put a firm hand on Blaine's forearm to keep him from retorting angrily. "Here is not a utopia, Blaine. We're subject to politics just like the other side."

When Anjali's assistant returned, he brought the Chief of Police with him. Mickelson was a middle-aged man just this side of overweight with small, beady eyes and deep furrows in his brow. He narrowed his eyes into even smaller points when he saw the collection of complainants waiting for him.

"Sit down, Mickelson," Anjali directed. "We have a situation. Blaine, tell us what happened."

Blaine repeated himself for the second time in an hour. He was getting sick of talking when he wanted to be looking for Kurt. He would have protested, but Anjali needed to know the circumstances, where Blaine had already looked, and what Kurt was wearing to put together a search party.

"We're going to organize a search throughout the town and forest."

"I know the procedures," Mickelson grumbled.

"You misunderstand me, Chief. _You're_ going bring in all the boys Blaine and Kurt named as their attackers. _We're_ going to search for Kurt. Should you happen to find any of the named boys missing, you will inform me immediately."

"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves. No one has even gone to check the boy's residence yet."

"We searched for Kurt far more thoroughly than you looked into his attackers' alibis," Soren snapped.

Without listening to Mickelson's outraged reply, Anjali sprang into action. The Security Administrator didn't charge through the police headquarters on the second floor for no reason, so when she roused the officers into action and sent pages out to call in the entire department, firefighters and EMTs included, no one took her orders lightly.

"How can I help?" Blaine asked.

"We'll need volunteers to supplement the department. Go get The Wonderland Company to help," Anjali directed.

Blaine didn't need to be told twice. He raced through the streets back to Broadway and into the dining room where everyone had gathered for lunch. He skidded to a halt in front of the teenagers' customary table by the window.

"Who is _she_?" Hana asked. "And why did she say _that_? Oh, hello … Blaine, what's wrong?"

One-by-one, his friends' faces transformed from amusement to worry as they looked away from Hana and to the anxiety on his own face. The whole way home, he'd prayed to see Kurt sitting at their table and ready to chide him for overreacting, but of course, Kurt was not here either.

"Has anyone seen Kurt since we left for the doctor's?"

When they all shook his heads, Blaine sank into one of two free chairs with sagging shoulders. He retold the story again in a weary voice. His friends, at least, didn't waste his time on questions. They had seen firsthand how badly Kurt had been injured, and they knew from Blaine's previous experience how much more damage Parrish could do given the time and opportunity.

Nick pushed his chair back roughly. It screeched along the floor and drew the attention of the company. He climbed on top of the seat and addressed the room in a carrying voice while Hana and Dagny wrapped their arms around Blaine's shoulders. Not one member of the company hesitated to leave their unfinished lunches and hurry over to the Administration to be assigned search grids. Cillian went out a side door and came careening around the corner in his electronic golf cart with Ciara, Caroline, and Declan on board too. At any other time, Blaine would have laughed at the old actors weaving through the crowded streets.

Anjali divided the volunteers and sent them on their way to comb the streets, forest, and knocking on every door in Here. The teenagers she sent to the school, though she cautioned them to stick together. Parrish and all the guys who had attacked Kurt and Blaine were supposed to be in school all day.

"A hundred blues they're absent," Nick muttered darkly.

"I'm not taking those odds," Jeff returned.

Blaine, Dagny, Nick, Jeff, and Hana had been friends for years, but traveling across town just the five of them now felt wrong. They weren't whole without Kurt. They needed his sharp, entertaining wit filling the silences and his leadership inspiring them to challenge themselves and his quiet, reassuring strength to put them at ease.

"Let's start around the track," Blaine suggested.

The school didn't have sports teams, but did have sports fields for use by gym classes and students wanting to play and practice in their leisure time. A sweep of the track, field, bleachers, dugout, and supply shed turned up nothing, so they headed around the school building, paying special attention to the shipping and receiving and kitchen disposal areas. Again, they found no sign of Kurt and headed into the school building proper. For three hours they searched every nook and cranny in their school, but Kurt was nowhere on the grounds.

"Let's go back and see if anyone else found him," Blaine said anxiously.

A pit had formed in Blaine's stomach the longer they searched without finding Kurt. In the quiet moments, his mind had replayed Kurt's words just before his disappearance and the way he'd vanished. He cut off the first stirrings of comprehension. Thinking about having lost Kurt to impossible circumstances so soon after they'd admitted their feelings was too much.

The Administration was bustling with activity as search parties returned, reported, and received new assignments. From the chatter, the teenagers surmised Kurt had not been found yet. Comforting hands found their way onto Blaine's good shoulder and his palm. Anjali motioned the teenagers over when she spotted them.

"Three hours is still very early," she assured them. "No one has found Kurt yet, but they may. We're not going to give up until every inch of Here is scoured. People don't just disappear here, do they? We'll find him."

"What about Parrish?" Nick demanded.

"Everyone Blaine and Kurt named in their statement was in school today. Their teachers have accounted for them all."

Anjali patted Blaine's good shoulder consolingly before moving off to check in with another search group returning.

Blaine sank down into an uncomfortable plastic chair and covered his head with his hands, bandages and sling notwithstanding. His friends gathered around him while casting nervous glances at one another.

"We'll keep looking too, Blaine," Hana promised. "I skipped this afternoon's lessons, and I'll skip every day until we have Kurt safely back with us."

"Yeah, mate. Nothing will keep us from finding Kurt," Jeff added.

"Yes, it will," Blaine said miserably. He sat up straight, wincing when he lowered his shoulder too quickly. "He's gone. He's back on the other side. I can feel it."

He rubbed at his chest subconsciously. His heart fluttered irregularly beneath his palm.

"But that's impossible," Nick said slowly.

"We're talking about Kurt Hummel," Blaine returned. A wretched bittersweet grin tried to tug at his lips. "He's found a way to do what no one else ever has before. It doesn't matter how long we search, we won't find him. We've lost him forever. He's gone where he can't be found.


	42. Thirty One

**THIRTY-ONE**

Kurt stood frozen in place. His jaw had fallen open, and his eyes had bugged out for a full minute now. Only grumbling pedestrians shoving past him roughly and jostling his sore ribs encouraged him to get his thoughts together and try to process what he was seeing. He would have known this place even without the gigantic _Wicked_ poster on the side.

The Gershwin Theater. New York City. The real world. Home.

Elation bubbled up in his chest, and he let out a whooping cry full of triumph and relief. He threw his arms into the air and shouted at the sky.

"Kurt Hummel is back!"

He turned expectantly to his right, but found only an empty patch of sidewalk. He spun on his heel, head whipping and craning to peer through and over the crowd, but though he saw plenty of curly-headed, bespectacled boys, none of them were Blaine.

"KURT! Kurt!"

Kurt's heart stuttered in his chest. It had been seven months since he'd heard that voice, but he would recognize Rachel Berry's distinctive shriek a hundred years from now. The petite girl elbowed her way through the crowd pushing in the other direction. Her lips formed a perfect O, and her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't make a move towards him. She stood and stared.

"Rachel? What are you doing in New York?"

The question shattered her shock, and she marched towards him like a General to battle.

"What am _I _doing in New York? What are _you_ doing in New York?" she screamed. Her fists pounded on Kurt's chest and arms, and he danced away from the sharp pain. "Seven months, Kurt! We've been worried sick about you! We've had candlelight vigils for you and anti-bullying campaigns started in your name and journalists all over Lima wanting to know everything about you. And you've … you've been in New York? I understand wanting to run away from Lima, but you couldn't even call your dad to tell him you're alive? You couldn't – couldn't – couldn't –"

Rachel's anger turned into sobs, and she threw her arms around Kurt's waist. He let out a whimper at the pressure around his ribs, and Rachel pulled back enough to see pain lacing his expression.

"Oh my God," she rushed. "Oh my God, you're not in New York by choice, are you? Oh my God! I knew you wouldn't just run away. Okay, we have to go to the police. You can tell them everything about your kidnappers, and we'll get your dad a plane ticket to come see you and –"

"Rachel!" Kurt cried.

He put his hands on her shoulders and held her in place. Kurt had never felt so fond of Rachel Berry as in that moment. She was grating as ever, but she was the spirit of New Directions and being in her company felt like a warm spring dawn after a long, dark winter.

"I've missed you so much," Kurt confessed.

He pulled Rachel into an embrace as tears splashed down his cheeks. Rachel's hands ghosted over his back, as if the hug startled her and she didn't know how to react now. Eventually, her palms settled lightly on either side of his spine.

"You don't mean me specifically, of course."

"No, I do. I mean you specifically, Rachel Berry."

Kurt dabbed at his eyes with the backs of his hands, and Rachel pulled out a travel packet of Kleenex to dry their eyes.

"Kurt, what happened? Why did you disappear?"

"It's a long story, Rachel, and you wouldn't believe me. Why are you in New York?"

"If I tell you why I'm here, you have to tell me what happened. I swear I'll believe you, Kurt. Every word."

Kurt nodded reluctantly, and jerked his head backwards at a bench with a garish add for an attorney painted on the back. They walked the few feet in silence. Rachel worried over Kurt's shuffling steps, and Kurt wondered at the sheer noise of New York City. After the relative quiet and clean air in Here, New York City settled over Kurt like a thick blanket. Everything sounded too loud and smelled too pungent and felt too heavy.

"New Directions is performing at Nationals tomorrow. We didn't want to go to Sectionals without you, but we decided that we had to. The club couldn't continue for another year if we didn't win or place at Regionals, and we wanted you to have glee club to come back to," she hurried to explain.

"It's fine, Rachel. Really. And congratulations, that's quite an accomplishment, and I'm really proud of all of you. Does that mean everyone is here in New York?"

"Yes, and I'll take you to see them just as soon as you tell me what happened."

"You're nothing if not persistent."

Rachel arched her brows dramatically, so Kurt took a deep breath and started his story. He began with how lonely he felt back in November, which she had so keenly picked up on during their duets assignment, and how he'd been on his way to spy on the Warblers, but ended up somewhere else. Her lips twitched into a frown and her brow furrowed when he explained about Here, but for once in her life, she didn't interrupt the conversation to interject her opinions. Kurt talked for a quarter of an hour and left out nothing, save some of the more intimate moments between himself and Blaine and private things his friends wouldn't want others to know. He also skimmed over the assault. He wasn't ready to talk about it in detail, so he left it up to Rachel's imagination to picture how severely a homophobe would react to two boys showing affection.

Talking about Blaine put a lump in his throat, and his eyes darted around the street frantically. He knew it was hopeless. Kurt's desire to come home could not summon Blaine. Returning to their old lives took introspection and self-acceptance, not to mention the belief that they could return.

When Kurt finished his story, Rachel considered her hands for a pregnant moment. She took a deep breath, as if steadying herself to say something difficult and potentially friendship shattering. He had seen the expression twice before. The first time, when she'd told him harshly he had no chance with Finn, and the second time, when she tried to empathize with being the only out gay kid at McKinley.

"Okay. Let's take you to see the rest of New Directions."

She stood up, walked to the edge of the sidewalk, and threw her arm out like she'd been hailing taxis her whole life. Kurt followed her in bewilderment.

"Wait. So … you believe me?" he asked.

She cocked her head to the side and considered him in the same way she'd stared at her hands a moment ago. "Of course I believe you. You're my friend, Kurt. I know you won't believe this, but … you're my best friend. No one else really understands what it's like to live in the shadows when you know you're born to be a star."

A taxi pulled to the curb, and Rachel scooted across the backseat. Kurt eased himself into the car behind her while she smoothed out the bunched parts of a dress that was surprisingly pretty for an item of clothing Rachel had selected without his assistance.

"Take us to the NYU Medical Center," Rachel told the driver.

"The hospital?" Kurt asked. "Rachel, I'm not that badly hurt. A doctor has already looked at my ribs. The breaks are a couple weeks old anyway."

Rachel stared aghast and mouthed the word 'breaks.' She shook her head a moment later. "Finn is in the hospital. His dancing has deteriorated significantly this year. He broke my nose in April, and now he's broken one of his toes, which means his dancing will be even worse at the competition tomorrow."

With traffic, the drive to NYU took much longer than Kurt could have anticipated, but they couldn't have walked faster with Kurt's healing ribs, so he refrained from complaining. At last, the driver pulled up to a curb in front of a building that looked nothing like a hospital to Kurt. If not for the sign spelling out the hospital's name, Kurt would have mistaken it for an office building or some sad shopping plaza that hadn't been redesigned since the 1970's.

"I don't have any money," Kurt admitted.

He pulled two yellows out his pocket as proof. The rest of his saving was stashed away in his room. His old room, he corrected, that he would never see again. Rachel stared at the vouchers curiously while the driver charged an exorbitant amount onto her credit card.

"It's fine. I don't have Finn's room number, but Mr. Schue gave us enough information that I think we can find him."

Kurt began to doubt that after Rachel passed a sign clearly labeled 'Orthopedics' and charged down a perpendicular corridor twenty paces ahead of him. He grew more suspicious when she stopped at a random nurse's station, leaned over the counter, and whispered furiously at the nurse sitting there.

"Rachel, what is going on?" Kurt demanded. "Where is Finn and …"

Kurt's eyes drifted to a plastic sign posted on the wall by the nurse's station: "Children and Young Adult Psychiatry." Hurt and betrayal swam in his eyes when he shifted his gaze back to Rachel. She bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying.

"I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm so sorry."

Strong hands grabbed Kurt's upper arms from behind, and he jerked away on instinct. The orderlies seized hold of him more firmly.

"Please don't hurt him!" Rachel pleaded. "He has broken ribs. Be careful!"

The last thing Kurt saw before being led backwards into a small, stark white examination room was Rachel pressing a hand to her mouth and tears splashing down her cheeks.

**o o o**

According to Kurt's psychiatrist, he was being uncooperative. No matter how many times Dr. Hahn asked about the story he'd told Rachel, Kurt refused to admit he'd said any such thing. He simply lifted a brow and lied through his teeth.

"Maybe she should be in the padded room? I ran away to New York to make it as a star."

Kurt's room in the psychiatry ward was not actually padded. He had a normal hospital bed that he spent very little time in. Dr. Hahn called in consulting physicians and surgeons to run all the tests on Kurt that had been done at the Here hospital. They determined what Kurt already knew. He had broken two ribs, which needed another month to fully heal, and his surgical scar showed no signs of infection.

All of New Directions came to see Kurt, but they weren't permitted to visit until his dad arrived and created a friends and family list. When the nurses explained that to Kurt, his heart stopped for a moment. He was going to see his dad after a painful seven month separation.

Kurt had never felt lonelier than the day and a half he spent in the hospital with no visitors. He wanted Blaine's presence to comfort him, and his warm body curled up around him under the scratchy sheets. He wanted to wake up from a nap and see Nick pouring over a science book and Jeff's genial smile as he perched on the end of the bed. He wanted to hear Dagny taking bets on how long before he could tap dance again and figures of speech lost on Hana. It was the first time he realized that he felt as complete with The Wonderland Company as with New Directions.

"What the hell happened to him?"

His dad's gruff voice roused Kurt from a cat nap he remembered trying to fight off. His eyes fluttered open to see his dad dressed in jeans, flannel, and baseball cap at the end of the bed facing off with Dr. Hahn. Carole stood at his side holding his hand. Kurt didn't hear the doctor explaining the internal damage to Kurt's body nor the assessment of his state of mind.

"Dad?"

Burt's head whipped around. He rushed around to Kurt's side and scooped his son up into a hug like he was a little boy waking from a nightmare. Burt made sure not to squeeze Kurt's chest or jostle him, but he held his son close nonetheless. Kurt felt tears slipping down his cheeks, and his dad's tears falling onto his temple.

"Kurt. God, Kurt I thought I'd lost you forever."

"You almost did, but I found a way back," Kurt cried. "Life isn't complete without the people you love. I got a harsh reminder of that. I'm not going away again, dad."

Burt looked furiously at Dr. Hahn. "He sounds perfectly sane to me. I want to see release papers today. My son is coming home."

Dr. Hahn pursed his lips. "Mr. Hummel, with due respect, you haven't heard Miss Berry's side of things. Kurt told her a very disconcerting story when she found him. I think once you hear it, you'll see that your son needs help."

Burt's eyes shifted to Kurt, and the boy felt trepidation pool in his chest. He knew what his dad was going to ask before the words left his mouth, and Kurt couldn't look into his dad's eyes and tell the same lie he'd been giving Dr. Hahn.

"Kurt … what happened to you?"

"You can tell us anything, sweetie," Carole said. She lowered herself onto the end of the bed around Kurt's ankles and rubbed his knee affectionately.

"I wanted to get out of Lima and away from the troglodytes at McKinley, but not the way I did. I tried to get back, but …"

With a deep, shuddering sigh Kurt began telling his story for the second time. Unlike Rachel, his dad and Carole did not pretend to believe him. Their brows furrowed deeply at the first mention of Here, and the more detail Kurt provided about the place he'd lived for the last seven months, the greater their discomfort. When he finished the narration, Carole turned away to brush tears off her cheeks and his dad looked crushed.

"It's not unusual in traumatic situations for a victim's mind to create a place of escape, but the trauma leaks through at times. You can see that clearly with Kurt's story. He accomplished great things in Here, but he couldn't leave, and homophobia is still a real concern in that world. With therapy and cooperation from Kurt, I'm confident that he stands a good chance at recovery," Dr. Hahn summarized.

Kurt gritted his teeth. To protest now would only confirm for his dad, Carole, and Dr. Hahn that he belonged in a mental hospital. He took deep breaths to keep himself calm. This was not the reunion with his dad that he'd pictured, and it was getting worse every second.

Burt nodded slowly. "We can't stay in New York."

"I'll get in touch with my counterparts in Lima, if I can, or possibly Columbus."

Dr. Hahn left the room still scribbling on his notepad. Kurt lay back against his pillows staring up at the ceiling tiles while his dad and Carole orbited around him uncertainly. Angry, humiliated tears stung the backs of his eyes. He knew his story sounded crazy, but logic couldn't stem the overwhelming betrayal he felt.

"Do you want us to bring in your friends?" Burt asked finally. "They're all waiting in the lobby to see you."

All Kurt could imagine was twelve glee club members and Mr. Schue crowded around the end of his bed looking on with pitying, incredulous faces at the poor gay kid who cracked from too much bullying. If his dad didn't believe him, no one would.

"No, I don't want to see any of them."

"Is there anyone you do want to see?" Carole asked gently.

Kurt rolled his head away to stare at the blank eggshell wall over the radiator. He could almost feel his dad and Carole sharing a significant look when he gave his answer.

"Blaine. I want Blaine."


	43. Thirty Two

**THIRTY-TWO**

For a brief moment when he woke from a fitful sleep, Blaine thought Kurt had come home. A warm body, slightly leaner and longer than his own, curled up around him under the sheets, and a comforting hand rubbed circles on his back. The body was too soft to belong to Kurt, however, and memories of Dagny's vigil at his bedside last night returned. The girl's hand paused when she saw Blaine was awake.

"Hey, Blainers," she greeted, with a sad, lopsided grin.

"Kurt?"

She shook her head against the pillow and let him bury his face against her shoulder. So it was true. Kurt had really found a way to leave Here, and Blaine couldn't follow because he didn't understand how it could be true. Fresh sobs shook his shoulders, and Dagny whispered soothing sounds into his ear that did nothing to comfort him because she wasn't Kurt and only Kurt's presence could make everything right again.

"I didn't even get to tell him I loved him," Blaine choked out between sobs.

Dagny felt bands constrict around her heart. Blaine had been there for her at times when no one else could be, yet when it was her turn to be his anchor, she was adrift and out of her depth. All she could do was rub his back and stroke his hair and lend her shoulder. She had no words to express her sympathy except to say that her sense of loss paled in comparison, and that would be no comfort at all.

After too short a time, Blaine shied away from Dagny and dried his cheeks with his sleeve. She wanted to protest, to tell Blaine to let it out, but he was a teenage boy, and she didn't think teenage boys felt better after crying it out.

"You need a shower."

"Thanks," Blaine retorted.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Come on."

She crawled out of bed and busied herself making it up again while Blaine stared at the outfits in his wardrobe. She said nothing when he picked a pair of gray sweatpants and a baggy navy t-shirt from the bottom drawer.

Nick looked up from a script he was reading when they came out of Blaine's room. The boy headed straight for the bathroom and a morning shower, which now included the use of plastic bags to keep his bandages dry. Dagny joined Nick on the couch, but neither spoke until they heard the sound of water pouring from the showerhead.

"How bad is he?" Nick inquired.

"Pretty damn." Dagny craned her neck to look at the closed bathroom door. "You know Blaine. It's killing him inside, but he'll put on a brave face and pretend it's not as serious as it is if we let him."

"What do we do, Dagny? You're the only one who's ever seen him like this."

She shook her head slowly. "It's a Catch-22 with Blaine. If you don't push him, he'll internalize until he explodes. If you do push him, he'll just explode. Even I haven't figured out how to handle his temper."

Nick lifted an eyebrow. "Blaine has a temper? More than when he was jealous of Christophe?"

Dagny nodded significantly. "Nick, he severed the tendons in his arm and broke six bones in his hand going after Parrish. Just … be prepared, okay? You're his roommate, so I'm counting on you to notice when it starts getting out of hand."

"Emphasis on the 'when'?"

"Not an 'if' in sight."

Fifteen minutes later, Blaine poked his head out of the bathroom. Nick and Dagny had moved on from whispering about him, but they broke off their discussion about what to do for Nick's upcoming sixteenth birthday – other than the obvious kiss they'd promised each other months before.

"Umm. I can't get dressed with my shoulder …?"

Nick's eyes went wide. Rolling her eyes, Dagny got up from the couch. Blaine danced back from the door, a little shocked she was going to help him. She rolled her eyes at him too. He had already managed to get his pants on, so they weren't going to be getting that intimate. She took up the t-shirt from the countertop. When she turned around, she stared openly at Blaine. He had tossed aside his towel, exposing his lean muscles and smattering of dark hair on his chest.

"When did you stop being a little boy? And how did I miss it?"

"A while ago. And you had eyes for someone else."

"Yeah. Good thing too. That would have been awkward."

Getting Blaine's injured, swollen, and bandaged shoulder into a t-shirt, even a baggy one, proved quite a challenge. Dagny knew she botched it a couple times when Blaine winced, but he muscled through the pain until the shirt was on. He breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"Sorry, Blainers. Want me to brush your hair?"

"You don't brush curly hair. Use the comb."

Dagny picked up the wide toothed, purple comb he gestured to with his taped fingers and gently brought it through the curls falling into his eyes and around his ears. He'd never let his hair get this long before, but she liked it on him, and she knew Kurt did too.

"Oh!" she breathed.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Blaine looked away quickly. Dagny swallowed thickly and continued combing his hair in silence. She knew that since they'd come home from the hospital, Kurt and Blaine had taken care of each other, but she hadn't thought about how much they'd had to rely on each other. Kurt could hardly make it down the stairs, and Blaine couldn't manage something as simple as putting on a shirt.

"Use this." Blaine passed her a small glass vial of oil that smelled faintly of coconut. "About the size of a dime. Spread it over your fingers and then run them through my hair."

"What happened to the precious hair gel you used to hoard and protect as if your life depended on it?" she teased.

"This is better. It's natural, and doesn't use up a yellow on something that doesn't last very long."

"How's that? It's a hair product, right?"

Blaine took the vial back and set it down reverently in its place. "Kurt made it for me after I told him I was jealous of his soft hair. This makes my curls soft."

His tone carried such heartbreak and longing, Dagny felt tears at the back of her eyes. She watched helplessly as he trudged back to his room without shaving. He only paused briefly to take Pavarotti's cage from the windowsill and into his room with him. The tweeting bird sounded forlorn without Kurt whistling back at him.

A few moments later, the stereo in Blaine's room began playing _Somewhere Only We Know_. Dagny turned away with a hand over her mouth.

"I can't stand to see him like this," she breathed.

Nick pulled her into a hug that she returned fervently. They stayed wrapped up in each other and not speaking for several bittersweet minutes. Holding Dagny was all Nick had wanted since he'd first met her in August, but that they consoled each other over the loss of a friend and Blaine's grief kept his joy at bay.

"Dagny, I've been thinking. Blaine and Kurt kept themselves apart for months, and I heard Blaine. He loves Kurt, but he didn't say it. And look what happened. They'll never get another chance. That can't happen to us, Dagny. I don't want to wake up one day and realize I've lost you before I've ever had you."

She shook her head quickly. "Nick, I can't – "

"Yes, you can. I don't care about your birth year. Falling back on that is an excuse to see the world in black and white. We're teenagers, Dagny, but we don't have the luxury of acting like it if we want to be successful performers. So let's be like adults here and admit there are shades of gray in the world and think for ourselves instead of following a concrete law that doesn't take into account your special circumstance."

"I really love it when you get indignant," Dagny said with a dry laugh.

"Is that a yes?"

She hesitated. "I have to think, Nick. It's one thing for you to plead our case, but if we get caught, I'm the one who gets into trouble. I understand what you're saying. Even one day would have made a huge different to Blaine and Kurt. I won't take long. I promise."

**o o o**

Blaine was a ghost.

For four days, he kept himself holed up in his room listening to sad love songs and alternating between fitful cat naps and insomnia. He only came out of his room to use the restroom and take a shower when Dagny forced him. Hana brought him food after every meal downstairs, but he couldn't stomach more than a few spoons of soup.

He felt like he'd been ripped apart for sport and the pain had long since ceased to sting. A terrible hollow thing took up residence in his chest. The world seemed off kilter with deadened emotions, too distant and cold, and yet the alternative was too much to bear.

If they had broken up, Blaine could have feigned nonchalance and gone through the motions of daily life. But this was not a bad break up. This was bereavement, a permanent separation, a death.

"Blaine?" Hana called through his door. "You have a doctor's appointment. Your bandages need to be changed. Will you please go?"

Blaine lay sprawled on his bed. He felt gross in his unwashed pajamas and the rumpled sheets he occupied for nearly a week, but although he'd slept sixteen hours yesterday, he couldn't summon the energy to pull himself out of bed.

"I'm coming in," Hana said. "You'd better be decent."

She poked her head through the door and then came all the way in to his room. She wrinkled her nose at the mess and the tray of breakfast he hadn't touched.

"I know you're depressed, Blaine, but you have to take care of yourself. Kurt would be appalled to see you like this."

Blaine threw his hand over one ear and pressed the other into his pillow. "_Don't_ … say his name."

Hana rested her hands on her hips and frowned down at the boy. "Blaine Anderson, you are getting out of this bed and going to the doctor's today! Life doesn't stop because you're in pain. Kurt knew that, and he would be ashamed by the way you're acting. He would insist you pick yourself up and take care of yourself and find a way to go on with your life. You know in your heart that is what he is doing right now."

"I don't know how to be as strong as him."

"Kurt was not always strong when he was here. Sometimes, all he could manage was survival."

**o o o**

"I don't need a chaperon," Blaine grumbled.

Jeff grinned placidly as he strolled along beside Blaine down the cobblestone street towards the hospital. The mid-June weather had taken a turn for the hot and no breeze alleviated the pounding heat from the noon sun.

"Are Canadians allergic to heat or …?"

Jeff danced away from a well-aimed punch that would have only hurt Blaine's injured fingers more. He fell into step beside his friend and resumed his companionable silence. Hana had sent him along with Blaine in her place so she could clean up his room because she knew he wouldn't do it himself. Jeff had been assigned the chaperon task as penance for a "misogynistic" comment he'd made about getting Hana to clean his room too.

"Seriously, I don't need a chaperon. I'm perfectly capable of walking to the doctor's office," Blaine whined again.

They turned onto High Street. Jeff wondered how Blaine didn't notice all the attention they garnered just from walking down the street. He hesitated to point it out, because he would have to bring up Kurt if he did, and he'd been friends with Blaine long enough to know that was a bad idea.

"You might change your mind," Jeff answered neutrally.

"Not –"

"Blaine!"

The two boys turned their heads left to find Christophe jogging to catch up with them. Blaine stiffened at the mere sight of the other boy, and dread stole over Jeff. He fixed Christophe with a warning glare, but he ignored Jeff entirely.

"Is it true, then? Kurt has found a way to go back to the other side?"

Jeff's hands clenched into fists at his side. He wasn't a violent person, but he could have pummeled Christophe right then. His gaze flashed to Blaine. Pink splotches tinted his cheeks, and his jaw flexed furiously.

"Is that all you care about? Going to the other side?" Blaine hissed.

Christophe took a step back at the hostile tone, and Jeff rolled his eyes. Obviously, this guy had taken one too many footballs to the head if he didn't realize he'd stumbled into a hornet's nest.

"I do not want to go back. My life there was terrible. I heard a rumor, and I want to know if it is true. I regret that I could not set things right with Kurt – "

The speed of his own reflexes surprised Jeff. He grabbed Blaine and held his friend back. Insensitive as Christophe was being, this new tendency of Blaine's to punch anyone who annoyed him disconcerted Jeff.

"He's not worth it, mate," he muttered. "Let's go."

Jeff shot a glare at Christophe as they parted. He kept his hand on Blaine's good shoulder to propel him forward until Blaine shook it off and fell into sulking.

"I guess I should have warned you. News has gotten out," Jeff explained. "Everyone is talking about Kurt and going to the other side. They all want to know how he did it, and if they can do it too or if Kurt was a special case."

"Stop saying his name!" Blaine demanded.

Jeff snapped his jaw closed. For the next few minutes, they walked in a much less companionable silence. Blaine brooded, and Jeff tried not to annoy him any further. Uncomfortable as this was, Jeff thought it was for the best he had been the one to tell Blaine. The rest of their friends were so brusque sometimes Blaine's mood could have been made even worse.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said miserably at last.

"No worries, mate."

"You're just as curious, aren't you? I know how much you miss your family."

Jeff nodded. "I'm not going to lie. I really want to go home. But I'm also not going to ask you about it right now. Just … promise you'll tell me someday soon. I know I'll be able to get back to them if someone would just tell me how."

Blaine exhaled deeply. "He said you have to embrace who you're becoming. It's about finding yourself again and accepting whatever you're meant to do in life and whoever you're meant to be. He said we're all too passive here, and that's why no one has left before. We were told we couldn't leave, and we accepted it because, on some level, we all wanted to run away from our problems."

Jeff looked down. His blond fringe fell over his shining eyes while he blinked away the sudden moisture. Tears clogged his throat when he answered.

"Thank you," Jeff whispered.


	44. Thirty Three

**THIRTY-THREE**

"Let's talk about Blaine."

Kurt crossed his arms over his torso and glared at Dr. Hahn. The cheap white cotton pajamas the patients in the psychiatry ward were forced to wear irritated Kurt as much as the prying question. The psychiatrist peered over the top of his yellow legal pad with condescending inquisitiveness on his face.

"Let's not," he answered coldly.

Dr. Hahn frowned and scribbled something in his notepad. When he was done looking self-righteous and put-upon, he let his expensive ink pen rest in the fold of his binder.

"In order to process your release papers and allow you to return home to Ohio with your family, I need to complete a full assessment of your physical and mental condition. Otherwise, I'll be forced to transfer you to a psychiatric hospital in Ohio. It's up to you how you return home: on a plane with your family or with guards."

Kurt's eyes darted to the bank of windows. Strips of metal grating obscured the New York skyline. This was not how he'd pictured his first visit to New York City. He was supposed to see _Wicked_ and have breakfast at Tiffany's and sing an ode to New York in Times Square and Central Park.

It had been five days since he'd gotten back, and he missed Blaine with a fierce ache in his chest. He'd cried himself to sleep more than once and refused to see anyone who wouldn't believe Blaine was real and wonderful. New Directions had left New York without seeing Kurt. Knowing Rachel and her big mouth, they all knew his story, and they all thought he was crazy. Maybe not Brittany. In hindsight, he kind of regretted not asking to see her.

"I want the record to show that I hate you," Kurt began frostily. "Let's talk about Blaine."

Dr. Hahn picked up his pen and made a note on his pad of paper. Kurt humored himself that he was literally writing: 'Kurt Hummel hates you.'

"You know that I've seen your medical charts, Kurt. Your broken ribs, your bruises … I know about it all."

"I thought we were going to talk about Blaine?"

"I think we might be."

Kurt furrowed his brow, the meaning of the sentence escaping him for a full minute. When the implication dawned on him, his face darkened and his upper lip curled.

"Psychoanalyze me all you want, but don't you ever make accusations like that against Blaine again. He literally tore his body apart to protect me. Everything he's ever done has been to support me. He didn't do this to me, and he's not some sick romantic manifestation of my attacker."

"You're obviously a very intelligent young man, Kurt. When Miss Berry didn't believe your story, you started lying about what you'd told her. And you already know my hypothesis on why you created this fairy tale land."

Kurt didn't hear a question, so he refused to speak. He and Dr. Hahn engaged in a prolonged staring match until the doctor reminded Kurt again of his options for returning to Ohio.

"What do you want me to say? I know I sound crazy, and I know Here sounds like a 'fairy tale land' but I can't change what I remember of the last seven months."

"I'm trying to uncover what did happen to you, Kurt. You didn't really go to another realm. You were here, in our real world where terrible things happen to good people. Sometimes what we feel is more truthful than what we remember. I need to know these things, Kurt, so I can determine the best way to help you get better. So when I ask you about Blaine, I need you to tell me these things – that he made you feel safe – so that I know he's not the bad guy. I'm not here to cast aspersions on Blaine, but you're not being very cooperative."

Kurt sighed deeply. "Why? You're not going to be my doctor for very much longer. I can't talk about him now and then do it all again next week. I mourned my dad and all my friends who I thought I would never see again, and just when I thought I might survive that I have to go through it all again. I just … I can't. I just can't."

Dr. Hahn's pen moved across his page rapidly.

"Okay, Kurt. I can respect that. Your medical examinations didn't turn up any signs of prolonged physical abuse or sexual assault – "

Kurt started. Had that been where minds had gone when he'd disappeared?

" – and you're not showing symptoms of PTSD, so I'm going to release you into your dad's care. He and I have spoken, Kurt, and he agrees that you need psychiatric care. I'm recommending outpatient counseling three times a week at the Ohio State University medical center."

It was better than Kurt had hoped for, so he only nodded. Dr. Hahn closed his notebook.

"I'll have one of our residents go over all the information about your treatment plan with you and your family before you leave tonight."

Kurt only nodded again.

Carole and his dad were waiting at a table in the recreation room where patients in various states of drug-induced hazes painted pictures and played board games. The metal bars on the window and ominous presence of guards gave the sterile white room an uncomfortable air. He slid into a seat across from them.

"I'm being released today."

Neither his flat tone nor blank face expressed any joy.

**o o o**

Around dinnertime, Carole left to get Kurt a meal he found acceptable, the starch and carbs on a plate the hospital brought around being anything but. Burt stepped outside where he got better cell reception to make flight arrangements for the next day. The atmosphere in the rec room had long since given Kurt crippling depression, so he sat in the armchair in his room flipping through the latest issue of _Vogue_ while he waited for his dinner and/or release papers to arrive.

"I am a fashion psychic," Kurt said to himself when he spotted the third military style jacket on the glossy pages.

"Well, I'm Dr. Faraday," a deep alto voice laughed.

_Vogue_ slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor with a slap.

"Dagny?" he cried, leaping up.

The pretty blonde in light blue scrubs started and gawked at Kurt. His hope deflated, and his shoulders slumped. The doctor looked like Dagny, yes, but her hair was too long, and though she too was tall and slender, she had a fuller figure than the ballerina.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

"H-How do you know that name?" the doctor demanded breathlessly. "Dagny Faraday, it's not exactly common. Where did you hear it?"

Kurt knew he faced more incredulity if he gave an honest answer, but something about the doctor's wide eyes behind her black plastic glasses compelled him to risk it.

"She's my friend. I met her seven months ago. You look just like her. But she's a ballerina, not a doctor, so I don't know why I even thought …."

Dr. Faraday reached out for the footboard on the bed to steady herself. The papers inside the files and charts in the crook of her arm tipped and scattered, and she trembled head to toe as she lowered herself to the floor. Kurt scrambled over the papers bearing his name and medical history.

"So it's true. Your story, the one your annoying friend repeated to me five times, it's true," the woman breathed.

Kurt sat with his legs turned awkwardly and papers crinkling beneath him. He didn't understand why this doctor believed him when no one else did, but something about what he'd said had clearly shocked her.

"You need to breath. Deep breaths in through your nose," Kurt coaxed.

The doctor gripped his forearm tightly, like she feared he would run away if she let go, and breathed in time with him. After a few minutes, the initial shock had subsided, and she stopped trembling against him.

"How ironic is this? The psych patient is treating the psych resident," she said humorlessly.

"Why do you believe me?" Kurt blurted.

"How many Dagny Faradays do you suppose there are in the world? And how many of them are ballerinas? And how many of them disappeared without a single lead for the FBI to investigate? My name is Briony Faraday. Dagny was – _is_, I guess – my sister."

Kurt's mind reeled. He had always believed things happened for a reason, but only in the vague sense that trials made him stronger and smarter. This was too much like fate for his mind to process completely.

"What are you doing in New York?" he asked thoughtlessly. "You're from the Bay Area."

Briony started again and tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh my God! You really are friends with her. Tell me about her. Please."

Kurt rambled for a quarter hour there on the floor of his hospital room with his medical chart spread out on the tile. He stumbled over his words and made no attempt at chronology as he talked about her dancing, mannerisms, and style. He glossed over Dagny's four year stay in a psychiatric hospital. It was too ironic and too depressing to deal with.

Briony was in tears and sobbing against Kurt's shoulder by the end of his recollections.

"Th-that all sounds so much like the Dagny I knew."

"I never did find out how she arrived in Here," Kurt concluded. "I wish I could tell you what happened, but it was considered rude to ask, and she never shared."

"She disappeared when I was eleven; she was eight. Our mom took her to ballet rehearsal one day, and … I guess they had a fight in the car. Mom never told me what they said. I think she blocked it out, you know? Mom turned her back for a second, and then Dagny was just gone. I can't believe she's alive. She's been gone so long …. Oh my God. They declared her dead years ago. There's a headstone and everything."

Their moment was interrupted by heavy footsteps faltering on the threshold.

"What's going on here?" Burt asked.

Briony surged to her feet and did her best to wipe away the tear tracks on her cheeks. Kurt climbed to his feet more slowly and with one hand braced over his ribs. Burt looked back and forth between his son and doctor curiously.

"Dad, this is Dr. Briony Faraday. She's a resident here, and …" Briony nodded. "The sister of one of my friends."

"Brittany? Quinn?" Burt guessed.

"Dagny," Briony said. Tears had left her voice rough. "Kurt met her in Here."

Burt's face turned stormy. "What the hell kind of psychiatrist are you?" he thundered.

"Dad!"

"No, Kurt. This woman is supposed to be helping you get better, not encouraging … _this_."

"Mr. Hummel," Briony interjected, "if you'll listen, I'd like to tell you why I believe Kurt. I'd like to tell you just how sane your son is."

Kurt watched doubt and hope war on his dad's face. In the end, Burt listened to Briony with his elbows braced on his knees and eyes fixed on the floor. When she was finished, and Burt finally looked up at his son, Kurt was startled to see tears streaming down his dad's face.

"I am so sorry, Kurt," Burt said. "I should have believed you."

"Dad, n – "

"You're my son, and you told me what happened to you, and I should have believed you. I knew, Kurt, I knew in my heart that you wouldn't have run away, and everyone – the FBI, your doctors – kept telling me that you weren't forced to leave. So I should have believed you when you told me about Here. I'm sorry, Kurt, that I let them keep you locked up and I'm sorry that I didn't believe you."

Kurt brushed away the fresh tears on his cheeks and scooted forward in his chair to hug his dad.

"I'll go tell the nurses to rush the release papers," Briony said quietly.

"Thank you," Kurt said. "I think you and I should talk more, Briony. There's a lot about Here that I haven't told you. I can't talk about everything right now. It hurts too much, but I do want you to know how happy your sister is."

The doctor smiled gratefully. "I know she's alive and safe. That's enough for now. But I would like to hear more. I'll give you my number before you leave."

Briony hurried out of the room, leaving Kurt and Burt to share more hugs and tears in private.

**o o o**

Kurt had never been on an airplane before. Burt and Carole let him sit in the window seat and gaze out the small, dingy economy class window at the patchwork farmland and sprawling cities they flew over on the way from New York to Columbus.

Carole had been told about the verity of Kurt's story the night before. She had taken it much the same way as Burt, with apologies and affirmations of love. They had agreed to tell Finn, because Carole and Finn had moved in again, but whether anyone else knew the truth would be up to Kurt. It still stung that Rachel had lured him to a mental hospital, and he didn't trust that no one else would try the same thing.

"It's better that they think I'm crazy than I was abducted and forced into a gay prostitution ring," Kurt quipped.

Burt and Carole cringed. Clearly, that had been one of the possibilities that had been floated at some point by the police or their own research.

Finn picked them up from the airport in Columbus. He drove Kurt's Navigator, as it was the only vehicle between the four of them big enough to fit everyone and luggage comfortably. When they met outside the baggage claim, Finn gazed at Kurt like he was a mixture of a porcelain doll and rabid wild animal.

"Hello, Finn."

Two words broke the tension, and Kurt found himself engulfed in a too tight embrace.

"Ribs! Ribs!" Kurt protested.

"Sorry, dude," Finn said, letting go. "I just really missed you. We all really missed you. It's not the same without you, Kurt."

Although he didn't say it, and wouldn't because he was Finn Hudson, Kurt knew he wasn't only talking about glee club.


	45. Thirty Four

**THIRTY-FOUR**

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Hana?" Nick asked, for the sixth time.

The tiny girl gave the bed an almighty shove and propelled it through the narrow doorway into the common room. She turned and waved at the now much less crowded space that was Blaine's bedroom. Nick gazed dubiously at Kurt's bed, which had been a staple in Blaine's room for weeks now.

"I really don't know about this."

"Stop fussing. Move Kurt's bed back into his room, and I'll start cleaning in here."

Dagny came into the common room when Nick was wheeling Kurt's bed through his door. Her eyes flew open in shock, and she aimed a punch at his shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing! Put that bed back! Blaine is freaking out enough as it is, and you're taking away the one part of Kurt he still has close to him?"

"It was Hana's idea!" he protested.

Dagny rounded and marched into Blaine's bedroom. Hana hummed softly while making the bed and didn't notice Dagny had entered the room until she threw a pillow at her head.

"What are you thinking?" she demanded.

"I want to clean this room."

Dagny stared as Hana went about her business, picking up and straightening the room like she did this every day. Any of Kurt's clothes that she found, she tossed into a laundry pile. Dagny's squawks of protest went unanswered, but when she scooped Kurt's clothes off the floor and cradled them protectively, Hana scolded her.

"Ayo is going to come by soon to collect all of Kurt's things, and we need to have them cleaned and arranged for her to take."

Whenever someone in Here died, their belongings were returned to the Warehouse for others to use. The only exceptions were heirlooms, gifts, and legacy items. Dagny clutched the clothes more tightly.

"First of all, these are clean. Kurt wouldn't leave his dirty clothes lying around. Secondly, Ayo won't be taking these because Kurt made them himself. And thirdly … what the hell is your problem, Hana? Kurt is our friend, and we're never going to see him again. How can you just sweep away his things like it's no big deal? Don't you miss him at all?"

"Of course I do!" Hana snapped. "Everyone grieves in their own way, Dagny. Unlike you seem to believe, your way isn't always the right one. Kurt is gone, and if he can leave, then he never belonged here in the first place. I miss him, but he is where he's supposed to be, and we are where we're supposed to be."

"I am so sick of your fatalism! Get out of Blaine's room!" Hana stared. "I'm serious, Hana! Get out and don't come back until you can think about how your actions affect our friend who is hurting worse than he ever has before."

"Don't get self-righteous," Hana fired back. "You're just hoping that now Kurt's gone you can be Blaine's best friend again!"

Nick jumped between the two girls before their fight could escalate anymore. Hana stormed out of the boys' room and the slamming of her door echoed down the hallway. Dagny fumed and rounded on Nick.

"And you were helping her! Don't you miss Kurt either? What is wrong with our friends?"

"What good will it do all of us moping all the time? Yeah, I freaking miss Kurt, okay? He's my friend, and I wish he was still here. I'm sorry I'm not more outwardly distraught for your viewing pleasure."

Dagny didn't answer. She stared fearfully over his shoulder, and Nick turned to see Blaine framed in the doorway. His face was a picture of rage.

"_What - did - you - do_," he hissed.

"Hana and Nick were just cleaning, Blaine," Dagny placated. "We're going to move Kurt's bed back in here."

Too late, she realized she had dropped Kurt's clothes onto the floor during her fight with Hana. Blaine's eyes fixated on the bright, bold clothes. He surged forward and snatched up the clothes sewn in Kurt's room on the stolen sewing machine.

"_Get - out!_"

"Blaine," Nick started, "this wasn't Dagny's fault. Hana and I moved the bed –"

"_Get the hell out!_" Blaine screamed.

Blaine drew his arm back and released whatever heavy thing he'd had in his palm. A textbook, he realized, when the spine caught on his healing fingers and sent shocks of pain racing up his right arm. The physical pain blocked the ache in his heart, and he seized another solid object off his desk. The stapler exploded when it hit the wall over his bed and rained down metal fragments onto the comforter.

Dagny tugged Nick out of Blaine's room. They found Jeff standing frozen in the middle of the common room. She grabbed his hand too and beat a hasty retreat from the boys' apartment. Even when they reached the stairwell, they could hear Blaine's fury through the walls.

Catharsis compelled Blaine to throw his possessions again and again. Anything he could pick up, he hurled across the room and watched it shatter into pieces. When there was nothing left on his desk to throw, he lashed out at the legs with sharp kicks until the wood splintered and cracked.

He heard a wild voice screaming wordless agony, but didn't recognize it as his own until his throat went hoarse and even swallowing became painful.

When his bedroom was in shambles, he staggered across the common room and into Kurt's bedroom where he curled up in the sheets that still carried the scent of Kurt. He tugged the pillow out from under his head and wrapped his arms around it. He buried his face into the soft, Kurt-scented fabric.

**o o o**

"What the hell happened today?" Dagny asked Jeff.

Her voice shook, and even though Nick held her tightly in his arms, she trembled from excess emotion. Jeff buried his face in his hands and refused to answer for several minutes.

"It's my fault. I made him talk about how Kurt left because I want to get back to family so badly. Christ, I should have known better, especially after Christophe surprised him like that."

"Whoa. What?" Nick asked. "I'm more prone to blame _Kurt's ex-boyfriend_ for triggering this … outburst. You weren't kidding about the 'he'll explode' thing, Dagny. We have to tell Ayo not to come get Kurt's things until we give the okay."

Jeff nodded solemnly. "I'll go tell her tonight. You're going to sleep up here tonight, mate?"

Nick grimaced. "If that's okay. I think Dagny's approach is best. We need to give Blaine some space to cool off and sort out his feelings."

Nick squeezed Dagny's hand to keep her from saying something she would regret later. A pounding on the door roused them from shock. Jeff went to answer and stood aside to let Hana in. Dagny threw a dirty look at the tiny girl.

"It sounds like Blaine is destroying your apartment!" she panted.

"We know. We left him to it," Jeff replied.

"That is so dysfunctional."

"And you're so interfering, thinking you know what's best for everyone else," Dagny snapped.

"Stop it!" Nick yelled. "We've all lost a friend, and we're all dealing with it in our own way, but no one is hurt more than Blaine, so let's stop jumping down each others' throats and come together so we can be there for him, okay?"

The girls slowly backed down and settled into seats around the coffee table.

"What are we going to do?" Hana asked quietly.

"At this point, there's only one thing we can do," Nick said.

**o o o**

"Up you get, boy-o. It's a shower for you, and then we're having breakfast."

Blaine pried his eyelids apart and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Cillian stood over the bed with a no nonsense expression and his cane poised to poke Blaine should he refuse to get out of bed. He pushed himself into a sitting position. Kurt's pillow fell away from his body leaving him feeling cold and lonely. He'd fallen asleep wearing his glasses, and the metal had bit into the left side of his face. His neck was sore from sleeping with no pillow beneath his head.

"I'm not really in the mood for anything."

"Do I look like I care? Get your scrawny behind in the shower. I'll get breakfast ready."

Grumbling, Blaine trudged into the bathroom and went through his morning routine halfheartedly. Without the thick bandages on his shoulder, he managed to get himself dressed, though it took a quarter hour to do it. When he came out of the bathroom, Cillian had spread two bowls of fruit, toast, and coffee onto the coffee table.

"Eat something."

"I'm really not – "

Cillian shoved a strawberry into Blaine's open mouth. The boy chewed and swallowed the fruit with much sighing and eye rolling involved. It didn't bother Cillian in the slightest. He'd been looking after teenagers far longer than not.

"So I see you've destroyed all your possessions," Cillian said conversationally. "Did it make you feel better?"

"At the time."

"Then at least something good came of it. Now you've got the denial, depression, and anger out of your system, I suppose it's time to take a step back to bargaining."

"What?"

The strange statement made Blaine forget he was supposed to be sullen and moody and uncooperative. Cillian pushed another strawberry in his face, and Blaine dutifully chewed on the first of the summer fruit.

"Every wee child in Here knows about Kubler-Ross. You've missed a step, but that's all right. We can go back."

"Yeah, but bargaining … what, exactly? Nothing will bring Kurt back."

"Heavens, no. Why would we want to do that? The boy is too special for this place. He's shown us something we've known all along, but haven't had the courage to admit to ourselves: we don't belong here. Now, I'm not going anywhere. Forty-three years I've been here, and I'm on my last leg, literally and figuratively. I've built a life here, and I'll die here happy that I've accomplished something important. But you, boy-o, you're living at a special time. You know you can go home."

Blaine started. They never referred to the other side as home. _Never_.

"And what's more, you've got someone special waiting for you there."

"Do you really think so? You think he'll wait?"

"Aye. If you stop lollygagging around and actually do what he told you you needed to do. I've heard from Jeff what that was, and I'll tell you now, Blaine, it won't be easy. Finding yourself after hiding for so long is painful, more painful even than losing Kurt. It means shifting through all those things in the past you'd rather not think about too much and welcoming them back into your life as part of who you are. But if you do that, if you're strong enough to bear it, something magical happens: a fresh start."

Blaine fiddled with the linen napkin he'd wiped his fingers on while he considered Cillian's advice.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"I'm no expert. I haven't been here for forty-three years for nothing. But I think you start by bargaining. Not with God, maybe, but with yourself. For example … if I stop destroying my possessions, I'm one step closer to becoming who I'm meant to be."

"Funny. That's not much of a bargain."

Cillian grinned. "Sure it is, because you know what that pot 'o gold at the end of the rainbow is. The real question is whether you think he's worth it."

"I'd do anything for Kurt."

"Then do what you know he wants you to do: figure out who you really are and what you're meant to do in this world. You're lucky; you've got Kurt as an example. You saw how he lived his life, so emulate him. Face your darkest fear and come out victorious, refuse to accept the easy answer, challenge yourself. And, then, Blaine, there will come a time when we say good-bye to you because you've become the great man I know you're meant to be."

**o o o**

Nick tiptoed into the apartment. Cillian had told him it was safe to come up, but he feared the mere sight of the person who had removed Kurt's bed from his room would send Blaine into another tailspin. The radio played softly in the background, and movement from within Blaine's bedroom drew his attention. He crept to the jamb and peered inside.

Blaine had on an old pair of sweats streaked with green that Nick recognized from that disastrous afternoon they'd tried to paint the common room. Dagny had had to redo all of their shoddy work herself, and the poor attempt made them the laughingstock of the stage crew.

"Hey," Nick said lightly.

Blaine looked up from his task. He was shifting through metal shards seemingly for anything usable and tossing the rest into a trash bag.

"Hey. Listen, Nick – "

"Don't worry about it."

"But – "

"Seriously, Blaine. There's nothing to forgive. If it was Dagny … I'm not sure I would have stopped with my own room. I get it. We all get it."

"Thanks."

"You need some help? I know a couple people who would be willing to help out."

Blaine shook his head. "Thanks, but this is something I have to clean up. Talking to Cillian made me realize a few things, and one of them is that I have to solve my own problems. So I'm going to clean up my mess on my own. Literally."

Nick looked disappointed, but nodded stoically.

"I could use some help a little later, though. I, uh, ruined most of my stuff, so I guess I finally have something to use my yellows saving on. A trip to the warehouse?"

"Definitely. I'll go tell the others."

Nick departed, leaving Blaine alone again to contemplate the mess he'd made, not just of his room, but of his teenaged life. With a deep sigh and an ache in his chest, he went back to picking staples out of his carpet. He had a lot of work to do.


	46. Thirty Five

**THIRTY-FIVE**

The world had gone on without Kurt Hummel in it, and with two weeks to go until his ribs were healed enough to do anything physical, he was enjoying catching up on what he'd missed.

He'd forgotten the convenience of having a new computer connected to high speed Internet. Photographs from New York, Paris, and Milan fashion weeks, music and movie reviews, and news articles were so simple to find. He spent a whole day downloading new music and looking at seven months worth of Lady Gaga's outfits.

He hadn't replaced his phone yet, and for very good reason. He didn't want the deluge of text messages and persistent calls from New Directions. Having only the house phone to call – and not even an extension in his bedroom – tempered their desire to bother him into showing himself in public.

Finn bugged him enough that Kurt deigned to come up to the attic and see his new bedroom. It was surprisingly tasteful for a boy who'd had cowboy wallpaper in his old room. The walls were still blue, but with varied shades and splashes of white. The décor left something to be desired: namely band posters and mess.

"My dad did all this? But his heart! Why didn't you just stay in the basement, Finn?" Kurt scolded.

Finn held up his palms. "I didn't stay in the basement because Burt wouldn't let me. That's, like, a sacred Kurt space. All the New Directions guys and Burt's buddies came over to help. It was like a freaking construction zone. Then all the glee girls came over to paint and decorate and stuff."

"We always do pull together in the end."

"So do you like it?" Finn asked hopefully.

"It's not my room. Do _you_ like it?"

"I love it! It's four times the size of my old room. It gets a little hot up here, but Burt bought me a couple fans, so it's no big deal."

"Then that's what matters."

Kurt found this new arrangement of Finn living in the attic and himself living in the basement much better for their friendship. They each had their much needed privacy, and therefore, didn't come anywhere near to having homophobic-slanted outbursts.

Kurt didn't come out of his room enough for disagreements of any kind, though. As his ribs healed and hurt less, he found his mood deteriorating. He wanted to spend time with his family, but whenever he tried to join them in the living room for a movie or board game, he felt too fatigued to manage the stairs, much less the company of others. He would only bring them down too, he reasoned, so he always turned back and kept up his isolation.

"Kurt?" Finn called through the closed door at the top of the stairs. "Mom wants to know if you're hungry."

Kurt didn't answer for a long while. He lay stretched out on his unmade bed in the pajamas he hadn't changed out of for two days and stared at the ceiling trying to determine if he had the energy to climb the stairs and sit at the kitchen table and lift the spoon from the cereal bowl to his mouth. It seemed like the most exhausting thing he'd ever done.

"Kurt?"

"Yeah, I'll be up in a minute."

Kurt didn't think he'd said it loud enough for Finn to hear. He lay in his bed for another ten minutes before rolling off the edge and padding into his bathroom. He couldn't go upstairs looking like this with his hair unwashed for three days and skin blotchy from a bought of tears brought on by he didn't even know what. Not that Kurt cared about looking his best anyway. There was no one to look good for anymore, not even himself, because part of himself would always remain in Here.

When Kurt came up from his bedroom, three pairs of wide eyes looked up from their breakfasts and watched Kurt pour himself a bowl of cereal.

"So … what do you boys have planned for today?" Burt asked.

"I was hoping I could work at the tire shop this summer," Finn said. "You know, save up money and … well, dating Rachel is kind of expensive."

"No problem, kid," Burt said, slapping Finn on the back.

Kurt's spoon clattered against the porcelain rim of his cereal bowl. He ducked his head swiftly to hide the hurt in his eyes. Knowing life had moved on without him and seeing proof of it in his own family were vastly different things.

The air around the kitchen table turned tense. Carole made a valiant attempt at engaging Kurt in conversation.

"I have the day off. I thought you and I might go on a shopping spree and get you all the new summer fashions."

Burt perked up at the suggestion. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I'll give you my credit card."

Kurt peered at his dad rummaging through his wallet with lidded eyes. "No. Thanks, but I have stuff to do today."

"You're turning down a shopping spree?" Burt clarified.

Kurt didn't answer. He just shoved around the soggy cereal in his bowl.

"Maybe you could see some of our friends," Finn tried tentatively. "Mercedes and Tina and Rachel have – "

"Don't talk to me about Rachel!" Kurt snapped.

"Look, dude, I know she really messed up taking you to a mental hospital, but she was trying to help. She's been a really good friend and girlfriend ever since you disappeared. She spent every night driving all over the place hanging up missing posters, and she was constantly on missing persons websites. I just think you might be more like yourself if you spent some time with our friends."

Kurt left his spoon in his cereal bowl. Without a word, he left the table and went back down to his bedroom. While he was still on the top steps, he heard the talk around the table continue.

"It's not supposed to be like this," Finn said. "He should be happy to see us again, right?"

For once, Kurt agreed wholeheartedly with Finn. The whole time he'd been in Here, he'd wanted nothing more than to come back to his family. But the return wasn't the joyful reunion he'd expected. He'd been lured to a psychiatric ward and told he was mentally ill, something which almost everyone he knew still believed to be true. But the loneliness was worse.

When he'd been grieving in Here, he'd had Blaine to help him through it, to listen whenever he needed a friend, and to empathize because he'd been through it all before. Who in Kurt's life now would understand? No one had been to Here, no one knew Blaine. To everyone else, Kurt had lost a town, a few friends, and a boyfriend. They had no concept of how great a loss that truly was to him. He didn't even have a picture of Blaine to put into a frame by his bed.

Kurt eased onto his bed again and closed his eyes against the stark artificial light reflecting off the white walls. While the iPod on the dock shuffled through new and old songs alike, Kurt breathed deeply and pretended he smelled cinnamon and coffee; he recalled the silky texture of Blaine's curls under his fingers and the tingle of their hands intertwined.

But already he had forgotten little details. Did he always scrunch his nose when he laughed or just when he was really amused? Did he purse his lips when he was angry or when he was nervous?

Tears escaped the corners of Kurt's eyes. These things he had forgotten in a week. How long until he couldn't recall the exact hazel of Blaine's eyes or how far he lowered his head to kiss Blaine? A month? Seven? Was that all Blaine could be to him: a few months of love, soon to be forgotten?

The iPod cycled onto the next song, one which normally would have Kurt belting out high notes at the top of his lungs into a hairbrush, but now triggered sobs that wracked his body and sent searing pain spreading over his torso. Kurt released his agony into his tears until Elphaba sang the line that had haunted him since he first realized Blaine had not followed him home.

"_It well may be,_  
><em>That we will never meet again,<em>  
><em>In this lifetime.<em>"

With a shriek of rage, Kurt seized the nearest item he could reach – his alarm clock – and ripped it from the wall. The plastic box and cord flew across the room, and with a sharp snap, the iPod broke off the dock and clattered uselessly to the ground.

Kurt raced around the bedroom snatching items off display shelves and pulling drawers clean out of their slots to riffle through their contents. Then, he stormed upstairs and out the front door with his arms full of what he'd once considered treasured possessions.

"Kurt!" his dad hollered. "Hey, Kurt!"

Kurt flipped open the top of the large trash can at the end of driveway. The city would take all this away to the landfill in a couple hours, and all the better. He tried to empty his armload of junk into the receptacle, but his dad pulled him back and all the items clattered onto the blacktop driveway.

"Kurt, what are you doing? This is all of your _Wicked_ stuff."

"I hate that fucking musical!" Kurt screamed.

His foot cracked the soundtrack CD case down the middle, and he kicked the fragments into the street. The CD spun on its edge and landed on top of the storm drain.

"I never want to see it again or hear those songs or have any of this stuff in my room!"

"Okay, Kurt," Burt said, slowly and with a shaking voice. "Okay. We don't ever have to even mention this musical again. All of this stuff, we'll get rid of it. Why don't you come back inside, and you can tell me why you don't like this musical anymore?"

All of his sorrow descended on Kurt at once, and the weight of it was too much to bear. He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around his middle. Burt awkwardly lowered himself onto the curb beside his son.

"I never even told him I love him. I was too scared, and now I'll never have the chance."

"Love. You didn't mention that when you told us about Here. So, Blaine, huh? You want to talk about him?

Kurt sniffed and rubbed at the wetness over his cheeks. "You wouldn't understand."

"Don't tell me I wouldn't understand about losing a first love," Burt fired back. Kurt looked up, startled. "I'm willing to forgive you a lot, Kurt, because I know how tough this is for you. But, kid, your grief is no reason to demean someone else's."

"Dad, I'm so sorry. I wasn't – I'm sorry. That was a really thoughtless thing to say. I know it's no excuse, but I just feel so alone. No one here knows Blaine. I don't have anyone to share his memory with or to correct me when I get his favorite Beatles song wrong."

Burt nodded solemnly. "That must be real rough. I wish I could make that better for you, but … I don't know Blaine, so I can't. But the difference, Kurt, is that your boyfriend is still alive. Yeah, you're separated from him, and that's painful, I'm not saying it's not. But you know he's alive, and that's not nothing. I'm speaking as a man who didn't know his son was alive for seven months. I'm talking about wondering every day if it's today that the detectives knock on my door with bad news."

"I know, dad. I wondered the same thing about you, if you'd had another heart attack because of stress."

"While you were gone, Carole taught me a valuable lesson. We have to have hope without putting our lives on hold. If Blaine is worthy of your love, he wouldn't want you to waste your days depressed and isolated. He'd want you to live every day to its fullest."

"Do you think he'll come home?"

"I think that I don't approve of you being with any boy who isn't willing to cross worlds for you."

Kurt sucked in a deep breath and let the ghost a smile ripple over his lips. He knew his dad was right. His dad was always right. When Blaine came home, he would need Kurt to help him find his footing. He'd been living in Here for so long. He'd never learned to drive or signed up for Facebook or come out to his parents.

"One more thing, Kurt, and this is non-negotiable," Burt said. "You're going to start using that Skype thing to talk to Briony. I already called her Monday to talk about it, and she's agreed to be your long-distance therapist."

Kurt nodded. "Okay. I'll Skype her tonight."

Kurt promised himself that when Blaine came home, he would be in a good place to support his boyfriend. It wouldn't be easy, but Kurt knew a thing or two about surviving loss and picking himself up. Happiness was not a prerequisite for hope, so Kurt would settle for hope … and hope that happiness came later.

* * *

><p><strong>Credit:<strong> Lyrics to "For Good" from _Wicked_ by Stephen Schwatrz


	47. Thirty Six

**THIRTY-SIX**

After six long weeks, the doctors determined that Blaine's arm could come out of the sling and that the bones in his right hand had healed. His shoulder muscles felt weak from weeks of immobility, and his fingers felt wrong when bent and flexed. His physical therapist came to see him in the examination room.

"Nice to see you again, Blaine."

"Hey, Miles."

Blaine wasn't exceptionally close to the Filipino community in Here, but the community considered themselves close to anyone with Filipino ancestry. As such, he'd only met Miles a handful of times, but Miles considered him a friend nonetheless.

"Let's see what you've done to your shoulder and hand."

Miles directed Blaine through a series of motions that stretched his cramped muscles, but it felt wonderful to move again. While he observed, Miles made notes in Blaine's chart and conversation that had nothing to do with physical therapy.

"No one's told me how you hurt yourself."

"I got into a fight with some guys."

"Where they checking out your girlfriend?" Miles joked.

"No, they were beating the crap out of my boyfriend."

Miles' hand paused, and his eyes flicked up over the top of the chart. The nurse in the room cleared her throat lightly, and Miles slipped back into his polite, professional demeanor and finished writing his notes.

"It's sad that our escape is as flawed as the world we came from, but no one ever became the best they could be in a perfect world," Miles said at last. "Am I going to see the other guys in physical therapy?"

Blaine shook his head. "I heard he had to have his nose set, so that's something."

Miles finished up the preliminary exam a few minutes later and handed off a sheet of instructions to the nurse, who added them to Blaine's medical chart.

"The doctors told you you're in for some intense therapy, and they weren't lying. We're going to get to know each other very well, Blaine. We'll start with three sessions a week, for six weeks and see how it goes. You'll need to do some exercise at home a few times every day too."

Blaine finally dared to ask the question he'd been dreading for six weeks. "Will I be able to play music?"

Miles considered. "It depends on what you play."

"Piano and violin mostly."

"For now, I don't want you to try. I think you'll have enough strength and dexterity for piano eventually. Violin, though …. I don't know yet, Blaine. That's a lot of strain on your left arm, but your right hand I'm sure could hold the bow steady. I promise I'll do everything I can for you."

Blaine received the news well. He enjoyed playing with the orchestra annually, but he could give up violin without great regret. As long as he could play piano again, he could accept the prognosis with a smile.

"Thanks, Miles. See you tomorrow."

**o o o**

"No sling!" Hana cried when she spotted Blaine.

A round of cheers greeted Blaine as he made his way across the park to the shadow of the gazebo where his friends had spread out a picnic lunch on the cool grass. A couple families flew kites in the high wind that tempered the blistering summer sun.

"How does it feel to have two arms back in use?"

Blaine shrugged. "I'll let you know once I feel like both arms are working properly. I start physical therapy tomorrow. I guess it's a good thing it's almost the off season."

The orchestra would be concluding their performances on Sunday, and then The Wonderland converted back into a movie theater to show the big summer blockbusters which had opened last summer at home and arrived in Here throughout the year. Everyone was already talking about _Iron Man 2_ and _The Last Airbender_.

"We've been talking about that," Nick said. "We have a proposal for the off season."

Blaine helped himself to some pasta salad and a few pieces of fresh fruit. The fruit grown in gardens always tasted better than the fruits produced in the greenhouses all year, and since he was late there wasn't much left for him.

"Okay. What's your idea?"

"We want to film a musical."

Blaine paused over chewing a wedge of honeydew melon. His friends looked excited about the daunting prospect. The last movie made in Here had come out looking more or less like _The Blair Witch Project_, but unintentionally.

"Okay … what musical do you want to film?"

"Actually," Dagny interjected, "we want to convert _Grey's Anatomy_ into a musical."

Blaine's eyebrows flew towards his hairline.

"Dream big, you know?" Nick said. "Like when we did _Sweeney Todd_."

Blaine's skepticism deflated at the subtle reminder that Kurt had taught them to step outside of their comfort zones, to risk everything for art, and they'd produced the most successful student musical to date because of his imagination and leadership.

"So … who am I playing?"

Dagny and Hana launched themselves at Blaine and wrapped him up in hugs. Dagny dotted his cheeks with kisses until he pried her off. Nick and Jeff high-fived, which seemed extremely odd to Blaine, but the abundance of affection distracted him too much to comment on it.

"Nick will play Alex, and Jeff will be Marc. You're playing Derek, Blaine. I'll play Callie, and Dagny can be Meredith. We'll have to open up roles to other people, but _Grey's Anatomy_ is amazing so I just know we'll have tons of auditions."

Blaine tried to look professionally interested, but he loved _Grey's Anatomy_ as much as the girls. He anxiously awaited the day the complete fifth season arrived and he had access to a DVD player at the same time. But now he thought about it, maybe one day soon he could buy every season at a store and watch the new episodes weekly.

"I don't mean to rain on the parade, but … you know that converting a TV show into a musical requires a songwriter, right? None of us have ever written songs before," Blaine pointed out.

"Unless we use other people's music," Hana offered. "We could have the characters cover songs."

"That is ridiculous," Blaine mumbled. Nick and Jeff nodded fervently.

"Fine. Then what's your suggestion?" Hana crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

"We write our own songs."

Blaine didn't know where the idea came from. He'd meant to say that he didn't have a better suggestion, but the words had come out all wrong. Now that he'd said it, he wondered if they could do it. Blaine had a gift for music, but he didn't know whether he had a song in him, much less enough to fill a musical.

But he wanted to find out.

**o o o**

Normally, Blaine was a pretty eloquent young man, but when it came to physical therapy, all he had to say was that it "sucked." He came back to the apartment from his first session with a rubber ball, stretchy cord, instructions, and a foul mood.

Miles had put Blaine through his paces; torturously slow and unsympathetic paces. Twenty shoulder rolls, followed by twenty arm lifts to the side and then to the front and then to the back, followed by raising his hand in the air twenty times. If he thought that was bad, lifting weights had been even worse. Blaine knew he wasn't the strongest guy. Dance classes gave him lean muscles, not bulging biceps, but he found Miles handing him a three pound dumbbell incredibly insulting.

The only good thing to come of his physical therapy session was that Miles had cleared him to return to dance classes. He couldn't do ballet yet, and Miles strongly discouraged any kind of partner dance simply because it could put too much weight on his arm. Vocal lessons had kept him sane while his arm was immobilized, but Blaine needed to move more than the sling ever allowed.

He changed into his dance clothes and retrieved his tap shoes from his wardrobe.

"We don't have tap tonight," Nick pointed out.

"I'm going anyway. Dagny said she's going to be dancing tonight. Maybe I can get an impromptu lesson."

Nick sent him on his way with a wave and turned back to his book. Blaine couldn't imagine reading a science book when they were due to start summer session in two weeks. He'd much rather burn off his frustration with some much needed practice. Ballet would have been better because he was so terrible at it, and it therefore required all of his concentration.

Blaine paused on the threshold of the empty dance studio. The last time he'd been in this very room, he'd given Kurt a basic tap lesson, and then they'd sung _Baby, It's Cold Outside_ together. With shaking hands, he put on his tap shoes and turned the Zoon to an upbeat dance number from _Anything Goes_.

The less Blaine tried to think about his last time in this room, the more Kurt invaded his thoughts. He danced harder, trying to push aside those memories and concentrate on his sloppy footwork. It had been six weeks since he'd danced, and it showed. With a frustrated growl, he stopped in the middle of the routine he'd known by heart last spring when they'd done the show.

"Focus, Blaine," he murmured.

If Blaine's teachers docked him in any area, it was his dancing. He needed to concentrate on the steps and move with the music. When he went home, if he ever figured out how to do that, he wouldn't be a principle actor. He'd be starting at the bottom and would have to work his way up again. He needed to be perfect.

But perfection is only an illusion.

Blaine let the music play without dancing. He stared at his reflection as the epiphany washed over him.

The key to going home was self-discovery. How could he discover himself if everything he did was to maintain a façade? He didn't need to be in the dance studio to distract himself from his bad temper; he needed to be wading through that misery, searching out its true source, and expressing himself through art.

He needed to be writing music.

Blaine pulled off his tap shoes and shoved his feet back into his sneakers. He raced out of the practice studio with his bag flying behind him and the soundtrack of _Anything Goes_ still playing from the speakers. He sprinted down the street to The Wonderland and was panting and sweating by the time he charged through the stage door.

"What's on fire?" Declan called.

Blaine waved vaguely, hardly even hearing the question.

Miles didn't want Blaine playing piano yet because it could put too much strain on his right hand, and violin was off the table entirely. So it was time for Blaine to learn a new instrument.

Eliso looked up from the violin bow she was tightening when Blaine barged into the orchestra pit. "What can I do for you, Blaine?"

"I need a guitar."

**o o o**

Blaine rolled his left shoulder to loosen up the stiff muscles, and then grasped the neck of the Taylor acoustic guitar. He ghosted his fingers over the strings and relished the feel of his callused pads touching string again after so long. He brought his right thumb down over the six strings and listened to the tuneless notes filling the empty bedroom.

He wondered if he should be in here or if surrounding himself with Kurt would detract from the purpose of learning to play this new instrument. He considered walking the twenty steps to his bedroom across the common room, but the idea of sitting among all his new possessions and experimenting with the guitar sapped him of inspiration.

Kurt was his muse. If Blaine could write songs, he would do it in this room as close to Kurt as he could be right now.

Blaine experimentally pressed down on the G chord, or what he thought should be the G chord. The guitar played an E. Blaine peered over the fretboard at the position of his fingers, and then laughed at himself. Of course a guitar couldn't be tuned the same way as a violin. For one, there were two extra strings, and also, the chords were upside down.

He tried again, and this time found the A chord where he thought it would be on the guitar. Within a quarter hour, he found all six chords. The problem became remembering where the chords were when he wasn't watching his fingers. One glance up at the frames containing smiling images of himself and Kurt, and his fingers fell back into the pattern of trying to play violin chords.

Blaine let his right arm drape over the guitar and his left fingers rest on the strings while he gazed at the many pictures on the desk. One drew his eye more than the rest. He and Kurt had been sitting in front of a vanity getting ready for the _Sweeney Todd_ dress rehearsal when Declan snapped the picture. Kurt was fixing Blaine's ascot while Blaine stared at his boyfriend adoringly.

"Did you know how much I love you?"

How could anyone not know? He looked absolutely smitten.

There was something about Kurt in the picture that occurred to Blaine for the first time. The shy, knowing smile hidden in the corner of his mouth and the half lowered lids ….

"You love me too," Blaine whispered.

Blaine's swimming vision made it difficult to watch his fingers as he picked out the D, G, A chord progression.

**o o o**

Nick came upstairs after another dinner where his friends hounded him about Blaine's absence. He had assured them that everything was still fine with Blaine, but he'd had a bad day and needed to work out his frustration at the dance studio. Dagny had gone crazy, because she swore Blaine had never showed up.

Nick wasn't an unfeeling guy, but the attitude in Here was beginning to bother him immensely. There was so much talk of going "home," but he'd been born in Here. Here was his home, and he didn't like the idea of everyone leaving. He didn't know what was on the other side, except for stories which sounded as familiar to him as Oz, Narnia, and Wonderland. It hurt that his friends wanted so badly to leave when they knew he wouldn't follow.

But standing just inside the threshold of the apartment with a plate of dinner Hana had sent up for Blaine and listening to music floating through Kurt's bedroom door, Nick couldn't begrudge Blaine for wanting to go home.

Blaine didn't exactly succeed at playing the song. There was something off about it that Nick couldn't put his finger on, but he'd had enough training as a musician to pick out the melody Blaine attempted to play and he'd known Kurt long enough to understand the significance he attached to Beatles songs.

Nick set the covered plate down on the coffee table. He wouldn't interrupt Blaine just yet. He'd give his friend a little more time to practice _Here Comes the Sun_.


	48. Interlude: El Amins

**INTERLUDE**

Not all stories have a happy ending.

Bassam El-Amin learned secondhand of the demise of the El-Amin family in Saudi Arabia. He never received official notice of how his brother, sister-in-law, nephews, and nieces had perished, but friends had passed along what information they knew. Bassam had pieced together the puzzle himself. He knew his brother, and he knew the kinds of trouble his mouth could get him into. A wrong word at the wrong time was all it took, and Ibrahim had a tendency to say many wrong words at many wrong times.

Bassam never went back to Saudi Arabia. It would not be safe for him to try. He had been living in America for fifteen years, had married an American woman, and raised children who considered themselves more American than Saudi. Even if he attempted to return, there would be no purpose. Wahhabi Muslims did not mark graves. Wherever his family was interred, Bassam would never visit the site to pay his respects.

And all of this following the disappearance of little Hana, who was meant to come live with his family and grow up in a free world alongside her cousins.

Bassam never found out what had happened to her either. The airline swore she had boarded the plane in Riyadh, but she had never made her connecting flight to Chicago and no one recalled seeing the little girl in the airport.

"You're worrying again."

Bassam looked up from the open newspaper on the table. His wife, Amanda, handed him a mug of hot tea with a dollop of honey, just the way he liked it on a cold morning. He had meant to read the article on funding changes to state universities in Illinois, but his eyes had never made it past the headline. Memories had claimed him again.

"There is no hope for my brother's family in Saudi Arabia, but I cannot help but worry about little Hana. She would be almost fifteen now. I wonder what sort of girl she would have become."

"These things are in God's hands. Heaven, _Jannah_, whatever language you name it in, children are never denied access to a better place."

"If I knew she had died I would not worry, Amanda. My fears are the awful things men do in this world, not what God will provide for her in the next."

Amanda placed her hand over Bassam's.

"If you can't find your faith today, then trust in mine. I know in my heart Hana is exactly where she is meant to be and that she is happier there than she ever was in this world."


	49. Thirty Seven

**THIRTY-SEVEN**

Brittany bounced down the front steps and skipped to the end of her driveway to meet Kurt as he pulled up in his black Navigator. He popped the lock, and she leapt inside the air conditioned car and threw her arms around Kurt.

"I'm so glad you called me, Kurt. I've missed your magic so much."

Kurt struggled to maneuver into a hug while still wearing his seatbelt. The doctors had declared his ribs healed three days ago, but he hadn't put that to the test yet. Brittany's painless squeezing did, though.

"I've missed you too, Britt. So … are you ready for a day of shopping?"

"You know it!"

Kurt pulled away from the curb while Brittany tuned the radio to her favorite station. A new Lady Gaga song that Kurt had already downloaded and memorized began playing on the heels of a Ke$ha song he didn't particularly like.

He hadn't tried driving until today. After so long without vehicles, he'd grown accustomed to walking everywhere. The North Hills mall was easily within walking distance to him now, though he never would have considered it before. He planned on shopping all day, though, and a backseat and trunk to store his bags would make the day go much smoother.

"Can I ask you something, Kurt? I'm really glad you called and asked me to have a girl's day with you, but … why did you call me? You haven't asked to hang out with me since that time we made out in your room."

"Remember what I said about that?"

"That I'm never supposed to mention it again. I'm sorry."

She looked genuinely distressed that she'd brought it up, so Kurt patted her hand consolingly.

"I know Rachel told everyone what I said to her when she found me in New York. I wasn't lying, Britt, and I figured if anyone would believe me, it would be you."

"Of course I believe you. I told everyone after Rachel came back to the hotel that there was nothing wrong with you. I told them, like, six times. They just ignored me like they always do."

"Wait. So you do believe me?" Kurt asked.

He brought the car to a stop at a red light and looked over at Brittany who nodded innocently.

"Well, yeah. You're gay, and every gay person has a closet. Really magical gay people, like you, have extra special closets that are connected to Narnia. When you go there, it's because you have something super important to do to save Narnia, and once you've done that, you get to come back. I wanted to call and tell you I believe you, but Santana said I couldn't. She said coming back from Narnia was really hard for you, and I had to give you time to adjust to being back in our world. Is it because there's no magic here?"

For once, Kurt didn't roll his eyes and laugh under his breath at Brittany. He blinked away his tears when the light turned green.

"Thank you, Britt. Coming back is hard for me because I left behind someone that I love, and I'm not sure if I'll get to see him again."

"Well, if he's gay and magical too, then he'll get to come home as soon as he's finished saving Narnia."

"That's what I'm hoping for."

Kurt and Brittany stayed out shopping the whole day. Since Kurt had left his iPhone in Here, he had to buy a new one and reconnect his number to it. He'd lost all of his contacts, but made a start over lunch by copying Brittany's list. He added Lord Tubbington at her insistence. He also bought a new iPod and dock since he'd broken his. The rest of his purchases, however, were clothes, shoes, and accessories.

"You need an orange scarf," Brittany said.

"Orange is an autumn and winter …." He trailed off. Brittany had arranged all the scarves he'd picked out so far over her arm in a rainbow with a space for an orange scarf. "Then we'll just have to go to another store."

Spending the day with Brittany wasn't without its hiccups. She dragged him into Toys 'R Us and bought him a pink unicorn horn headband. Her reason for dubbing him a unicorn was very sweet and flattering, but he did not want to be in possession of a unicorn horn, especially not one with a pink mane.

It took twenty minutes to sort out Brittany's bags from Kurt's when he dropped her off just after dinner time.

"Are you sure you can't hang out tonight, Kurt? Santana is coming over, and we're going to use up the rest of the sparklers and bottle rockets."

Kurt shook his head. "I'm not really in a celebratory mood."

"I thought boys did that like five times a day."

"Thank you for the invite, though."

Kurt spent the rest of the night sorting through his new clothes and cutting off tags. He made piles of clothes to wash and clothes to have dry cleaned, but there was surprisingly little joy in it. He missed sketching designs and cutting fabric and the hum of his high-end sewing machine.

He didn't have time to make his own wardrobe anymore, however. Over the past week while he waited for his ribs to heal fully, Kurt had made a plan for the summer, and it didn't grant much leisure time. He had, for all intents and purposes, been in drama school for seven months. That life was chaotic and demanding, but Kurt wanted no other life than the life of a working performer. He had improved so much since last November. There was no sense slacking off now.

**o o o**

Come Monday morning, Kurt was very glad he'd eased himself into seeing his friends by spending the day with Brittany. The bell over the door of Wright Dance Academy still jangled when Mike Chang appeared from a room behind the counter. Kurt froze on the threshold and Mike in the doorway, and then the dancer rushed around the reception desk and pulled Kurt into a hug. The sudden and unexpected show of affection startled Kurt, and Mike pulled away before he had decided what to do with his hands.

"It is so good to see you, Kurt," Mike said earnestly. "I've – we've all – been so worried about you."

Kurt knew he was meant to say something back along the lines of a 'thank you' and 'I'm just fine now,' but he'd been through that so many times already. He skipped past the pleasantries, but Mike didn't seem to mind or even notice.

"Do you teach classes here?"

"Beginning ballet and tap. So I guess that means you're not here to see me?" He grinned at Kurt's guilty expression. "It's okay, Kurt. Brittany told us all on Facebook that you're not de-magicked yet and we have to be patient."

Kurt groaned. He really needed to sign onto Facebook again soon.

"I'm actually here to sign up for a class or two."

A wide grin spread over Mike's face. He grabbed the signup form from the registration desk and began filling it out. Kurt read Mike's writing upside down.

"That's great, Kurt! Glee club could really use some attention to dancing. No offense, but you sort of only have –"

"One move. Yes, I've been over that with my ballet teacher. My old ballet teacher," Kurt corrected. "I'd like three sessions of beginning ballet, and two sessions of tap each week. The ballet can be in a class, but I learn tap better in private lessons."

Mike arched his eyebrows. "Five sessions a week?"

"Hmm. You're right. One session of jazz too."

"Wow." Mike let the clipboard fall to his side. "That's going to cost you _a lot_, Kurt."

Kurt was still adjusting to the idea of paying for things in real money instead of paper slips. Shopping with Brittany hadn't been any different than going to the warehouse; he'd charged his dad's credit card and got whatever he wanted without looking at price tags. Now that he thought about it, he was probably due for a lecture.

"It's worth it," Kurt said uncertainly.

He chewed his bottom lip. He also needed voice lessons and acting classes, plus all the equipment he'd need for these classes and to practice with.

"I'll be your private teacher," Mike said suddenly. "Free of charge."

"What? No, Mike – "

"We're friends, Kurt, and friends help each other out without strings attached. A perk of working here is that I get to use the empty dance studios. They're always free during lunch, so we can meet here every day at noon."

"You don't have to do this because of what happened. I don't need pity dance lessons. I can work at my dad's tire shop to find the money."

"If you want to pay me back … go see Tina. She really misses you, Kurt. She doesn't understand what she did wrong that you wanted to see Brittany before her. She's not going to do what Rachel did. She wouldn't have ever done that."

Kurt averted his eyes quickly and didn't answer for several minutes. How did he explain how degrading it felt knowing his friends thought he had a genuine mental illness that made him dream up an Oz-like fantasy world to escape his problems?

"Okay. I'll see Tina … and Mercedes. But if either of them tricks me into seeing Rachel, I'll never speak to either of them ever again."

"Fair enough. So I'll see you here tomorrow?"

"The day after. I have an audition tomorrow afternoon, and the director owns a drycleaners so he can only hold auditions during lunch."

**o o o**

"What's up with you, kid?" Burt asked.

Kurt had been bouncing in his chair ever since they sat down to Friday night dinner. Finn appeared mildly curious too, but more concerned with getting his second chicken parmesan breast out of the casserole dish. Carole smiled encouragingly.

"I have some very exciting news to share. I've been cast in a musical!" he cried. "It's just at the community playhouse, but it's the role of Jack in _Into the Woods_. It's a really big role, and one which my boyishly innocent features are just perfect for."

He wasn't surprised they weren't familiar with _Into the Woods_, but they made up for their tragic lack of Sondheim knowledge with exuberant congratulations. Even Finn set his fork down long enough to slap Kurt on the back: his version of a hug.

"Why didn't you tell us you were auditioning?" Carole asked. "We could have been there for moral support."

"I didn't want to jinx myself. It was my first real audition. It's not my first credit, but for my other performances we just divided up roles based on singing parts or to rotate leads."

"So tell us about this musical," Burt said. "This character, Jack, what's he like?"

"Well, it's the only tenor role in the entire musical. The rest of the male roles are for baritones."

"Wait. Tenor? I thought you sang soprano or –"

"Countertenor," Kurt informed his father.

"So why aren't you singing a countertenor part?" Burt asked.

"Because there isn't one in _Into the Woods_. There isn't one in most musicals, actually. That's why Cillian was giving me vocal lessons to strengthen my lower register. I've always been able to sing high tenor parts, but I just haven't."

Burt frowned deeply at his chicken breast, which Kurt was happy to see he had not smothering in marinara sauce, and vegetable blend. The longer his silence stretched, the more irritated it made Kurt. He'd finally found a moment of joy, and the changing atmosphere around the table dampened it considerably.

"I guess I don't understand why you're settling for something you can do instead of showing off what makes you unique. I didn't march down to your school and fight for your right to sing girls' songs just so you could decide you don't want to do that after all."

Kurt pursed his lips. "Of course I want to sing countertenor, but there aren't roles for it in musical theater, and I'm not interested in opera. I'm doing what every successful actor has done; I'm molding myself to fit the character. Jack is an amazing part, and one of the major male roles I'm perfect to play. I won't let you ruin this for me because … I don't even know why you're being like this."

"Hey," Burt said, holding up his palms. "I think it's great that you're improving your craft, and versatility is important. I am going to be the proudest person in the audience opening night and every night you sing like a dude. But it sounds like you're giving up on ever belting out a high note again. Now, you told us just a few weeks ago that you came back to us because you realized you're meant to be a creative leader. What the hell kind of leader sits back and accepts that he can't let all of his talents shine?"

Kurt shook his head. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if there aren't roles for guys like you in musical theater, it's your responsibility as a leader to create some for yourself and everyone who comes after you. If you're really serious about being a visionary, Kurt, you have to leave a legacy."

Legacy. The word stuck in Kurt's head for the next week until he decided what he wanted that legacy to be and sat down at his computer.

_SCENE ONE._

_(A flower shop in New York, November 1934. There is a discount sign in the storefront window; it is the height of the Great Depression and no one is spending on luxuries. The place is empty except for CONNOR, a teenage boy in tattered clothes that used to be fashionable. LIAM, the son of the shop owner, enters carrying a basket of flowers. They share a lingering look.)_

_CONNOR_

_Excuse me. Can you tell me what are good flowers for welcoming a friend to America?_


	50. Thirty Eight

**THIRTY-EIGHT**

Blaine strummed the guitar resting in his lap and tried two different chords in quick succession. A sharp throb raced from his shoulder down to his fingers. He'd been playing for over twenty minutes now, and his healing tendons couldn't stand much more exertion. Reluctantly, Blaine laid the guitar down flat on top of the bed.

He contemplated the black fretboard and followed the strings down to the rose design around the sound hole. A week had passed and he still hadn't figured out what was wrong with _Here Comes the Sun_. He'd spent whole days listening to the song on repeat on the iPod Kurt had left behind. The unusual rhythm he'd picked up on after a few close listens, but there was still something off about his playing that Blaine couldn't put his finger on. _Here Comes the Sun_ was starting to make him feel incredibly discouraged.

Blaine spun the desk chair around. Sheaves of paper covered the surface and pushed up against framed photographs. A notebook full of scribbles lay open in the center, and a mountain of crumbled up staff paper and ruled notebook paper overflowed the trash can. While his left shoulder rested, Blaine clicked his pen and considered the next stanza.

Blaine had hardly left Kurt's bedroom in a week. He knew today was his last day of uninterrupted songwriting, if what he was doing could even be called songwriting. At this point, he was writing bad poetry and a few melodic bars between failed attempts at playing _Here Comes the Sun_. Starting on Wednesday, he had summer classes at school, and he would be inundated with Economics and Chemistry homework in addition to dance, voice, and acting classes in the evening.

So far, Hana had been patient about the original songs Blaine was meant to be writing for _Grey's Anatomy, The Musical_ (something which Blaine found more ridiculous every time he thought about it), but at lunch she'd announced that she and Dagny had finally cast the other roles, so they were ready to begin filming as soon as she finished adapting the script and Blaine had some songs. She hoped to start next week.

But Blaine had no original songs yet: only a few couplets and some simple melodies to go with them.

Blaine didn't think his partial songs really had anything to do with _Grey's Anatomy, The Musical_ either. The longer he spent writing lines and crossing them out in his notebook, the more he hated the idea of writing songs about surgeons who made life miserable for each other. For so long, he'd repressed his emotions and just accepted what life had handed him, but now that he'd started to let those feelings out in song lyrics and melodies, he never wanted to stop expressing himself.

Songwriting was a drug, and maybe Blaine wasn't good at it yet – might never be good at it – but he couldn't stop now when he felt he had so many more songs in him just waiting for their chance to become music and lyrics.

A rap on the door drew his attention away from the ghastly rhyming couplet he'd jotted down on the paper. He crossed it out hurriedly and closed the notebook over his pen.

"Come in."

Nick poked his head through the door. His eyes widened at the sight of balls of paper littered around the trashcan and the sea of paper on the desk. He whistled lowly.

"I thought this only happened in comedy movies about writers."

"Apparently not. You wouldn't happen to have a spare notebook around would you? I've almost gone through this one."

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Nick laughed. "I'm the guy who fills whole composition books with math proofs. I have a couple spiral bounds that I'm not using, though. Help yourself to those, but if you touch the composition books …."

"It's the lightsaber for me?"

They both laughed, but Nick cut off their friendly, idle conversation by tapping his watch.

"You told me to get you at two o'clock."

Blaine started. He'd spent seven hours songwriting today, and although he had precious little to show for his efforts, he felt a great sense of accomplishment.

"Thanks. I'll be back in time for jazz."

Blaine headed out of the apartment with his duffel bag over his right shoulder. Physical therapy was a real pain in his … shoulder, actually. The broken fingers in his right hand had regained their strength quickly, partly thanks to Blaine's determination to play guitar. His hand cramped up every time he played, but he shook it out and kept going. His shoulder, however, was another story.

He entered the physical and occupational therapy unit ten minutes before his appointment with Miles and checked in at the front desk. While he waited for Miles, Blaine flipped through old copies of _Sports Illustrated_. He was halfway through an article on David Beckham when Miles came to get him.

"Devastatingly handsome, isn't he?"

For a minute, Blaine thought he was the subject of an offensive joke, but Miles looked genuinely smitten by the large, glossy photo of Becks in his football kit.

"I, uh, suppose. I prefer a different type, though."

Miles jerked his head backwards to indicate Blaine should follow him over to their first station. He held out a three pound dumbbell that never ceased to offend Blaine, even though he now realized his shoulder was too weak to lift anything else.

"What type is that?" Miles straightened his arm out. "Twenty."

Blaine made a choking sound, but rotated the dumbbell in tiny circles nonetheless. This was the problem with acquaintances thinking they were friends, Blaine thought.

"All right. We don't have to have a lady chat, but I'm going to assume that mean you're into queens."

Blaine cheeks went bright red, and Miles laughed heartily.

"He's not a queen," Blaine said defensively.

"So where is your boyfriend? I never see him coming in here with you."

Blaine didn't answer until he finished the exercises and handed the dumbbell back to Miles. Over the weeks, he'd grown accustomed to the curiosity directed at him because he was with Kurt when he went home. Talking to someone who didn't realize his connection to the infamous boy-who-went-home was brand new.

"Kurt Hummel is my boyfriend."

Miles' eyebrows disappeared into his fringe. "Oh. I didn't realize. I'm sorry, Blaine. That was a really insensitive question."

"It's fine," he mumbled.

"So are you wanting to go back like half the town? Or are you content to stay here?"

A smile made its way into the corner of Blaine's mouth. "If you'd known Kurt the way I know him, you'd follow him anywhere. I'll be going home someday."

Blaine held up his palms to Miles. Like a gushing river, a torrent of melody and words all mixed together rushed through Blaine in an instant. He sucked in a breath and let the feeling of the song take him over.

"I have to go."

"We've just gotten started," Miles protested.

Blaine was already gone, however. He sprinted out the door and made it back to Kurt's room in record time. Jazz class, dinner, and the classes starting bright and early tomorrow morning faded into the background as unimportant details. It was all Blaine could do to sort out the jumble of feeling into words and notes.

**o o o**

"Mr. Duval, do you know where Mr. Anderson is?"

Nick looked up sharply from his Economics textbook. The professor nodded pointedly at the empty seat at the table Nick had chosen. Everyone knew they were roommates, and if one was missing from school, the other had an explanation for it. But Nick didn't have one this time. At least, not one a teacher would accept.

Blaine had blown off the first day of summer session to keep writing songs. He'd been up all night fiddling around with his guitar, playing snatches of melodies and variations on those same notes, and sometimes singing along with the music. Nick didn't mind, and it hadn't kept him awake too long. Blaine's natural affinity for music meant he'd picked up guitar quickly. His renditions of other people's songs weren't exactly enjoyable yet, but his own music was pleasant enough to listen to.

They had all skipped school on at least one occasion for professional reasons, but doing so on the first day was a bad sign.

"He's home sick. His shoulder," Nick lied.

All of their teachers knew about the attack and had been informed that one of their pupils was still not fully recovered almost nine weeks later. The professor accepted the excuse and went on with the lesson.

Summer sessions lasted only half a day, so Nick headed back to the apartment in time to have lunch with Dagny and Jeff. Hana was putting the finishing touches on their _Grey's Anatomy, The Musical_ libretto.

"I still can't believe you agreed to do this," Dagny laughed. "I mean … _Grey's Anatomy_. Really?"

"Shut up," Nick grumbled playfully. "You know it's Blaine's favorite show."

"Speaking of … where is our dapper friend?" Jeff inquired. "Didn't he come home from school with you?"

"He skipped to write songs."

"Okay. I have to know what these songs are," Dagny cried. "For two weeks, we've talked about nothing but Blaine and his songwriting. We all get that you have to create whenever inspiration strikes, but I seriously need to see these amazing songs that have abducted our friend."

"He's not going to show anybody. He won't even ask Eliso why he can't play _Here Comes the Sun_ right. Frankly, it's getting annoying. _I_ want to know why he can't play it right."

"Well, he's going to have to if we're singing them next week," Dangy protested. "You could … take a sneak peak."

Jeff cocked an eyebrow. "You want to sneak into Kurt's room and look at the songs Blaine has written?"

"No! I want Nick to do that."

"Okay."

"Really?"

"No! I am not snooping on Blaine's songwriting."

An hour later, Nick and Jeff pressed their ear to Kurt's door and listened for any movement beyond the solid wood. The screeching of the old pipes from the direction of the bathroom sent them flying onto the couch and trying to look casual. Next moment, the screeching faded away and the high pressure showerhead pounding against the porcelain tub replaced it.

"Blaine's in the shower," Nick and Jeff informed each other.

They crept across the common room and stole into Kurt's room. Blaine had left the guitar on the bed again, but he'd cleaned up the desktop somewhat. Instead of a mess of papers, the staff paper had been arranged in several piles, some overlapping, but distinctly arranged nonetheless. The blue notebook with a pen in the spine rested on the corner of the desk. Nick picked it up and flipped through the pages while Jeff ran his index finger along the staff paper and hummed the melody. He moved on to the next stack of staff paper.

"Wow. Blaine's not a bad composer. Do you hear the theme reworked in this song?"

Nick didn't answer. Jeff looked up at his friend, who stared wide-eyed at the notebook. Nick slammed the lyric book closed with a snap.

"These aren't songs for us," Nick said.

"No, they're not."

Nick and Jeff whipped around. Blaine stood in the doorway with a frown on his lips and his brows furrowed. Nick wanted to point out that he'd just taken the shortest shower ever, and also he appeared to have forgotten to wash his hair, but that seemed too obvious a deflection.

"If you wanted to know about songs for the _Grey's Anatomy_ musical, you could have just asked," Blaine went on. "But instead you're snooping through my personal things? I thought we left our doors unlocked because we trust each other."

"It's not like that, Blaine," Jeff said.

"We were just curious about the songs we'd be singing next week, and we didn't want to disturb you," Nick said. It was a half-truth, at least. "We didn't realize they were about Kurt or we wouldn't have looked at them."

Jeff's eyes went round, and he gawked at Nick. Blaine's jaw set, and he snatched back the journal full of song lyrics from Nick. A tense silence passed while Blaine fixed his eyes on the notebook cover and breathed heavily.

"They go with a libretto," Blaine said at last.

"Which book?" Jeff ventured.

Blaine shook his head. "I have no idea. I just know that these songs belong in a musical that someone is going to write some day."

Nick and Jeff exchanged uncertain glances. Blaine didn't notice their concern. He opened the notebook to the page marked by his pen and gazed pensively at the last stanza that he'd written. He closed the notebook again and laid it down on the desk.

"Can I trust you not to read this while I take a shower?"

Nick and Jeff nodded quickly and sidled towards the door. Blaine shook his head at their antics and took a bottle of shampoo from Kurt's shower caddy.

The shower, Blaine had discovered, was a good place to write. He was working on his fifth shower so far today, and the water pounding on his shoulders and relaxing his muscles had produced some of his best work. As he stood under the high pressure cascade with his eyes closed, he went over the last stanza he'd written and pondered where to go from there.

_They've said you can never go home again,_  
><em>Any maybe that's true.<em>  
><em>But I can smile again, laugh again<em>  
><em>When I'm with you.<em>


	51. Thirty Nine

**THIRTY-NINE**

Kurt saw some familiar faces at the first cast meeting and table read of _Into the Woods_. Bryan Ryan failed to recognize Kurt, absorbed as he was in his script, but Mr. Schue leapt out of his chair when Kurt walked through the auditorium doors.

"Kurt!"

The boy paused in the aisle and forced a smile onto his lips. His teacher looked so thrilled to see him, but Kurt dreaded yet another reunion. He accepted the hug with grace and took a seat next to Mr. Schue with Bryan Ryan on the teacher's other side.

"Are you Jack?" Mr. Schue asked. Kurt nodded. "That is the perfect part for you. Do you know how many guys you must have beat out for that part? That's incredible, Kurt. I'm playing The Baker."

"I'm The Wolf," Bryan Ryan said, leaning around Mr. Schue. "A supporting role, and yet some might say it's the meatier role."

Teacher and student both ignored him.

"Isn't this a great way to spend the summer?" Mr. Schue went on. "I haven't been in a musical since … high school. And this is your first musical, isn't it?"

"Hmm. No. I did _Sweeney Todd_ this spring and _The Creation of the World and Other Business_, but that's not a musical, of course. Oh, and a tiny role in _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_."

"Wow. That's … wow."

The teacher clearly hadn't heard that portion of Rachel's retelling. Or maybe he had and he thought Kurt was crazy. Kurt supposed that would be his lot from now on, to be ostracized not only for being gay, but for a having a mental illness.

"Well, if any of my students are going to make it, it will definitely be you and Rachel."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "What makes you say that? Rachel is so indulged in glee club she thinks parts will be handed to her simply because she deserves them. I've been led to believe that casting directors will love my flamboyance. If any two of your students are poised for a colossal let down, it's me and Rachel."

Mr. Schue stared at Kurt like he'd grown another head. Bryan Ryan had abandoned his script and eavesdropped shamelessly.

"I've actually already been through it, though. Luckily I had kind teachers and supportive friends. But Rachel? Not that I care about Rachel's feelings much at the moment, but she's going to be devastated if the first person to knock her off her pedestal is the casting director for _West Side Story_ or _Funny Girl_."

Bryan Ryan coughed something that sounded like, "Told you so."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Schue. I don't mean to be cruel. You're a great teacher … when you're not preoccupied with being the most popular teacher in school."

Mr. Schue took a fortifying breath. "Can I be honest too, Kurt? I didn't let you audition for _Defying Gravity_ at first, and that made me the bad guy. But now you're saying that letting you audition also makes me the bad guy? When does personal accountability come into play?"

Kurt accepted that Mr. Schue was never going to be Cillian or Declan. He didn't have the experience as a working performer or the years of wisdom behind him.

"And yet the student who heard about the harsh realities from his teacher has been cast in a major role, and the one who hasn't is sitting at home singing into a hairbrush."

**o o o**

Kurt didn't arrive home until very late on Tuesday night. After the table read, he had gone to the North Hills mall to browse through the shelves and find some books on creative writing and formatting stage plays. He'd read many scripts, but never taken a playwriting class. Several scenes into his play, he still wasn't convinced he'd gotten the hang of creative writing.

When he walked through the front door, Finn spun on his heel and shouted in the direction of the kitchen that he was home. Kurt stared at the back of his head in shock. His dad and Carole came charging out the kitchen, both looking alarmed and relieved in unison.

"Where the hell have you been?" Burt demanded.

"Does it matter? I'm home before curfew."

Kurt hadn't been faced with the dreaded "where have you been" question for seven months. His roommates could care less where he'd been or what he'd been up to as long as he didn't wake them up when he came home, and Cillian and Ciara implicitly trusted their teenage charges to behave responsibly, which they usually did.

His dad balked at the retort.

"Of course it matters, Kurt! You left the house at seven this morning without telling anyone what you're doing or where you're going, and you've been gone for the last sixteen hours."

"And yet I'm still home before curfew."

"Cut the attitude. You just disappeared one day, Kurt, and we didn't see you for seven months. And now you're acting like we're not supposed to be worried if you're nowhere to be found for sixteen hours straight."

"I have a phone."

His dad's jaw tightened, and Kurt realized he was on dangerous ground now that he'd provoked his worried father. He knew he should feel empathy, but he couldn't summon it. He wanted to, and he tried to find some compassion, but it wasn't there. That part of him that used to overflow with sympathy refused to feel.

"We called!" Burt yelled. "You know what, Kurt. You're grounded. How about that?"

"Thank you." Kurt pushed past his dad and stalked towards his bedroom door. "I didn't really want to see Tina and Mercedes yet anyway."

Kurt wasn't entirely surprised when Briony's name popped up on his Skype half an hour later. She had told Kurt he could call day and night, and his dad had obviously taken that to heart. It was nearly midnight, and the background of her webcam image looked like a modest apartment.

"I hear you're having some problems with your friends and family," Briony started.

"I'm fine. How are you?"

The psychiatrist would not be dissuaded. In the end, Kurt broke down and addressed her concerns. He blamed weariness for his weakening will. He had had a very long day.

"I don't care about anyone. I mean, I love them and I care insofar as I want them to be safe. But I don't care how they feel. Tonight, I told my favorite teacher that he's terrible at his job. And I completely disregarded my dad's concerns that I might go to Here again. And I don't care at all. I think they should just deal with the fact that I've changed the way that I've had to deal with losing everyone I love twice in one year."

Briony made a few notes before looking back up into the webcam. "Kurt, I'd like to write you a prescription for a mild anti-depressant. This numbness, it's not going to go away on its own, and what I'm hearing from you is that you want to be able to feel again."

"I don't need to be medicated. I need … Blaine. I don't even have a picture of him to put beside my bed while I wait for him to come home."

"Were there none of him on the roll of film?"

"What?"

"There's a list of personal possessions you came into the hospital with. There was a roll of film in your bag. I assumed it was from Here because … well, it's a roll of film and not an SD card."

Kurt scrambled away from the computer and tore through his messenger bag. His dance clothes, script, and hairspray went flying as he ripped through his possession. Every zipper was undone and pouched dug through. Finally, he felt a cylindrical film canister at the bottom of a pocket. With shaking fingers, he pulled it out and cradled it in his palm like it was a priceless gem.

And it was precious. Somehow, it had survived a vicious attack and hospital stay, transferred from the pocket of a ruined kilt to his bag, come across a supposedly impenetrable barrier, and stayed tucked in its hiding place through another hospital stay and weeks of travel around Lima.

"Kurt?" Briony called.

When Kurt came back to his desk chair, he held up the canister between his thumb and forefinger and wiped away his tears with his left hand.

"I'll send you copies," he promised. "Dagny will be in a lot of these pictures too."

Briony ducked her head to hide her own tears. "I am so lucky to have met you, Kurt. When I think about all those other families out there who will never know that their loved ones are safe in Here …. I wish there was something we could do for them."

The idea kept Kurt awake all night and buzzed around his head the next morning while he browsed through Walgreen's waiting for the pictures to be developed in an hour. He purposefully did not flip through the prints until he was home again and alone in his bedroom.

Blaine was in the first picture. The background details escaped Kurt. All he could see was Blaine beaming at the camera. Tears spilled down his cheeks for the boy he missed so much. He couldn't stand to flip the picture over, so he laid it on his mattress next to his knee.

Most of the pictures had been taken before Kurt arrived in Here. Moments he'd never been part of appeared on film and many combinations of Blaine, Nick, Jeff, Dagny, and Hana rotated through the pictures. Sometimes Cillian or Ciara would show up in an image. Towards the last third of the stack, Kurt began to appear. There was a snapshot of Kurt, Blaine, and Pavarotti at Christmas; one of The Carrollers singing on Valentine's Day; a full cast picture from their play and musical; and the last picture, Kurt and Blaine dressed up for May Day.

Kurt had never seen himself look so happy, but he was drawn to Blaine and the adoration in his eyes as he gazed up at Kurt.

"You love me too," he whispered. "Come home to me, Blaine. Please come home."

**o o o**

No matter how he tried to concentrate on his play, Briony's idea would not leave him alone. Kurt only had an hour before he was due at the dance studio to have a tap session with Mike, and he'd hoped to finish Act I today. But Briony's words and the newly framed pictures of Kurt and Blaine sitting around his desk refused to let Connor and Liam have his attention.

Kurt did everything he could to avoid what he now knew he had to do. The prospect of finding all those people and telling them an insane story about how their loved ones were alive and safe filled him with dread. He wondered if it wouldn't be kinder to say nothing and let them move on with their lives than try to convince them fantasy worlds existed.

But when he looked at the photographs again, he realized he had proof. At least, for some families. If someone had been able to tell his dad he was safe while he was in Here, he would have hated them for taking the coward's way out and saying nothing.

So he opened a new browser window and stared down the search box for five minutes. Then he began to type.

It was almost too easy to find their names.

_"Blaine Anderson, 13, son of George and Mary Anderson went missing yesterday from Western Middle School …"_

There was a picture with the newspaper piece of a family of three posed in front of a woodland backdrop. Blaine looked exactly like his father. In thirty years, Kurt imagined comparing this very picture with an Anderson-Hummel portrait and laughing about how Blaine had turned into his dad. He printed out the article. He would read later about how Blaine was a model student and star athlete, things he already knew, but he wanted to read the article that told the rest of the world how amazing his boyfriend was.

His next search, however, did not return expected results. In fact, Kurt retyped the name into the search box three times he was so certain the first result was incorrect. But it came up every time. It had to be a different George Anderson. That was the only explanation. To prove his theory correct, Kurt clicked on the link. A cry tore from his throat, because it was not a different George Anderson. Blaine-in-thirty-years smiled at Kurt from the computer screen.

_Dalton Academy College Preparatory for Boys_  
><em>Ab uno disce omnes<em>

_George Anderson, Music Chair_

_Mr. Anderson studied musical theater at the prestigious New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts_ …

Blaine's father was a teacher at Dalton Academy. Blaine would have gone to the school where his father taught. Blaine would have been a Warbler. Kurt had been going to Dalton to spy on the Warblers. He would have met Blaine. Except Blaine was not in Ohio. He was in Here. And when Kurt went to Here, the first person he met was Blaine.

Kurt didn't realize he was sobbing or that he wasn't alone until he was pulled against a soft body and rocked gently. The long dark hair tickled his face, but the small hands on his back held him close and rubbed comforting circles until the sobs subsided and then pressed Kleenex into his hand. While he dried his tears, his companion drifted over to his desk to peer at the newly framed photos and the open webpage.

"What are you doing here? I thought I made it pretty clear I hate you."

Rachel didn't answer. Her eyes flew from the pictures of Blaine to George Anderson, making the same connection Kurt had. A hand flew to her mouth, and when she spun to face Kurt, there were tears clouding her eyes.

"Oh my God, Kurt, I'm so sorry," she cried.

Somehow, Kurt found himself comforting Rachel mere moments after she'd held him while he cried. That was the thing with being Rachel Berry's friend, he mused; everything would be about her in the end.

"I can see that, Rachel," Kurt conceded.

"I know you're probably still so angry at me, and you have every right to be. But, Kurt … you were standing in front of the Gershwin Theater and a giant _Wicked_ sign talking about going to a place where you discovered that to become a great person you had only to accept the parts of yourself that you've always had but were afraid to claim. I mean, if that's not the plot of _Wizard of Oz_, then I didn't read the book very thoroughly."

"I know what it must have sounded like."

"You – you do?"

"I should have known better than to say anything about it anyway. Although, in my defense, I didn't think any of my friends would ever lure me to a mental hospital under false pretenses, which just goes to show you what happens when you underestimate Rachel Berry."

"So we are friends!" Rachel beamed.

"Really? That's what you got from that?"

"Kurt, I really am sorry for what I did. And …" She gestured at the desk. "I'm sorry too about what you've lost. That's Blaine, right? In those pictures, you two look so in love."

Kurt nodded. "We are. And I'm going to tell him that as soon as he comes home."

* * *

><p><strong>Translation:<strong> Ab uno disce omnes = Latin motto, "from one, learn all."


	52. Interlude: Mary Anderson

**INTERLUDE**

As the sun descended below the horizon, Mary Anderson hurried through the house to the light switch beside the front door. She flicked it upwards and peered out the front curtains to ensure the porch light had come on and remained at her station for several minutes, as if afraid the light would go out the moment she turned away.

Mary was an intelligent woman. She knew perfectly well that the shining porch light wouldn't draw her little boy home. Blaine had been gone for nearly three years now, but he'd grown up in this house, and he could find it without the porch light on. But it comforted her to know that, should he come home, there would be a sign of welcome as he mounted the front steps and turned the doorknob.

Fresh tears sprang to her eyes every night as she turned on the porch light and dreamed up a fairy tale ending where her little boy came striding through the twilight and back into her arms. Mary turned away from the window when it became too much to bear.

Tonight, she was drawn upstairs through the silent, empty house and to the end of the hall. Blaine's room had changed not at all since that day he'd disappeared. Mary washed the sheets and made up the bed every week. She dusted the wooden surfaces and cleaned the windows. All Blaine's clothes were hung up in his closet and folded neatly into his drawers, although he'd be far too big for them now. The Zac Efron poster was still taped up inside his closet door.

"Have you done all your homework, Blaine?"

Silence.

"That's my boy. Dinner will be ready in half an hour."

Sometimes Mary's hope turned to dread. She feared that someone had found out about the Zac Efron poster – and what that meant about her son – and taken out their prejudice on him. She had nightmares about her son's lifeless body in a shallow grave along a nameless back road. The doctors had given her pills to take to ease the nightmares and panic attacks during the day, but she didn't take them. They made her worry less about Blaine, and what kind of mother wanted to worry less about her missing child?

George might have given up, but Mary never would. The sight of Blaine's unchanging room and Mary washing the bedclothes he hadn't slept in scared him. Life went on, he said, and it would do Blaine no favors to come home to a mother plagued with hallucinations. So Mary had left him to go on with his life, and he'd shown how very mentally stable he was by giving up his tenure and becoming a high school teacher at an all boy's school where he could be around not-Blaines all day.

"Blaine! Dinner!"

Silence.

The table had been set for two, a meal cooked for two. Mary dished out pot roast onto two plates. Her hands stilled on the second scoop, and she wondered what she was doing. George had left, and Blaine was gone. She couldn't fathom why she'd made so much food or who she'd been talking to a moment ago.

Then it hit her anew that her baby boy was still gone and nothing was okay. She rushed through the house and tore away the curtain from the front window. A sigh ripped through at the sight of the porch light cutting through the gloom.

When Mary went to bed, she prayed a nightmare didn't wake her and closed her eyes.

When she woke up, just like every morning, she searched the house for any sign of Blaine. But he hadn't come home last night.

"Blaine! Time to get ready for school!"


	53. Forty

**FORTY**

Nick sat alone in the dance studio spinning the conical birthday hat on its elastic string. Downstairs, everyone was celebrating his sixteenth birthday in style. The Wonderland Company had gone all out for his birthday, perhaps rightfully thinking his family wouldn't. They'd gone the ironic route, as noted by the Spiderman birthday hat and ice cream cake downstairs. When Nick opened his presents, he fully expected a couple rattles and coloring books.

He wasn't concerned with the baby jokes right now. By his watch, Dagny was fifteen minutes late, and Dagny was never late. Of course, they wouldn't have needed this meeting at all if she'd listened to his reasoning after Kurt went home. They could have been together for a month now, but she had considered and averted and deflected for four long weeks.

Truth be told, Nick was worried. They'd waited so long for this moment, but she was late for it. He'd always known the wait would be difficult, but he also knew it would be worth it. Dagny made him feel things he'd never even imagined feeling before. But he wondered now if she felt the same.

"Hi, Nick."

Nick spun around on the chair and stood up quickly. Dagny hovered in the doorway in her pretty green party dress. She took three tentative steps inside and stopped. She twisted her fingers together and snuck glances at him through strands of blonde hair in her eyes.

"You look nervous."

"I am."

Nick wanted nothing more than to race across the room, grab her, and kiss her senseless, but he figured that would be churlish, so he drifted closer as casually as he could manage. She ducked her head more, but she was taller than him in her heels, and he could see the conflict written on her face.

"Dagny?"

He took her hands in his and drew her closer, but she resisted and tugged her hands free. Nick's reassuring smile slipped. Dread blossomed in his stomach.

"I have to tell you something, Nick."

"You can tell me after."

She took in deep, rapid breaths. "That wouldn't be fair to you. Can we sit down?"

Nick agreed and pulled two straight-backed chairs over. They sat in tense silence for so long Nick wondered if she planned on telling him anything at all or if this was a strange stall tactic.

"I've been thinking a lot, about Kurt and Blaine."

"We all have. It's kind of hard not to."

"Exactly. It's so tragic that they're apart when they're so clearly made for each other. They were so close, so in love, and then … to be ripped apart like that. It's so cruel."

"Why are we talking about this again?" Nick wondered. "I'm not trying to be pushy or insensitive, but we have talked about it a lot. So why bring it up again now?"

Dagny looked up from her hands at last. "I want to go back. I want to go home."

Nick felt like he'd been hit with a ton of bricks. He leapt up from his chair and paced over to the window with his back to Dagny. He understood Blaine and Jeff's desire to go home. They had people waiting on the other side that they loved. But Dagny had never spoken a word about her family in the whole time he'd known her. She was so happy here as prima ballerina. And they had been talking about being together for so long.

"Dagny, there's no way I can …. _Oh_."

Nick carded his hands through his hair. He didn't know if any guy had ever been broken up with before he'd started dating his girlfriend.

"I'm so sorry, Nick."

"Why?" Nick couldn't help but ask. "You never talk about your friends and family. I've only heard about them secondhand. Apparently you told Kurt you didn't fit in? So what's there to go back to?"

Dagny struggled to cope with the venom in his question.

"I was eight-years-old. Of course I felt awful about myself when my parents praised Briony for making honor roll every six weeks. But she probably felt like crap when they gushed over me after a recital. They're my family, and we loved each other. Now that I've gone through losing Kurt, I have a tiny glimpse of what they must have gone through when I disappeared."

"And what about the family you have here?"

"Ciara and Cillian have been wonderful to me since the day I arrived, but I know they'll understand. Blaine said Cillian gave him his blessing to go home."

"It's not your home!" Nick snapped. "You've been here almost twice as long as there. Here is your home!"

Dagny held up her palms, and the moisture flooding her eyes spilled down her cheeks. "I'm really sorry that I'm doing this to you. I've thought about this for a long time, and I have to go home if I can. This wasn't an easy decision …. I'm so sorry."

Dagny fled from the dance studio, leaving Nick alone to imagine a day when everyone he loved had gone back to the other side and Here was nothing more than a resting point for wandering souls, and every friend Nick ever made abandoned him in the end.

**o o o**

Dagny fled down the stairs and out into the muggy late July night. The new moon left the stars to light up the sky, but she couldn't see them through her blurry vision. Her heel caught on an uneven cobblestone and tripped her up. She landed on her hands and left calf and sank down onto the stone still damp from the earlier rain.

"Dagny!"

Jeff rushed over to help her to her feet, but she shrugged off his attempts and remained seated awkwardly on the ground. Jeff lowered himself onto the street too and sat cross-legged beside her while she tried to rein in her tears.

"Is Nick that bad of a kisser? I'll never let him live it down."

Dagny cried harder, and Jeff had a moment of panic. His girl friends didn't cry much, and his sisters hadn't been at the age where they cried over nothing. He rubbed her back comfortingly because he couldn't think of anything else to do.

"We broke up."

"What? But you've been looking forward to the day he's not jailbait for so long."

She took a shuddering breath and wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Jeff dug out a spare Spiderman napkin he'd shoved into his pocket earlier in the night. She accepted it gratefully.

"I want to go home," she confessed.

"Didn't see that one coming. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Does it matter? I want to go home. Isn't that good enough?"

"Yeah, of course. I'd love to see you for the rest of my life as opposed to just the next couple … however long until I can leave. I'm just surprised is all. I'll bet Nick was too."

She nodded. "Does that make me a terrible person for changing my mind on him? I still feel what I feel, but I can't turn him into another Blaine, especially not when I know he doesn't want to follow. I don't even know if people born here _could_ go to the other side."

"If it's wrong to want to go home, then I'll be the pot and you can be the kettle."

Jeff sympathized with Nick. It couldn't be easy listening to everyone make plans for getting the hell out of Here. But Nick would never understand the grief and regret that came with disappearing from home and arriving in Here. He'd never experienced a moment where he was enjoying himself so much he forgot that his siblings were living with an alcoholic mother and the soul-crushing guilt that came with it.

"How do you think you'll get home? I guess it was directing for Kurt? Blaine clearly thinks it's songwriting for him."

"All I know how to do is dance," Dagny confessed. "Maybe I should try my hand at choreographing a whole ballet? What about you?"

"This. This is who I am. I'm responsible, a mediator, and if it's not conceited to say, I'm strong. I don't back down from adversity. That's who I am, and it's also the reason I came here in the first place. I couldn't be that person when I was a child, but I'm a man now."

Dagny gave a dry laugh. "So you get one step closer with every one of your friends' messes you clean up? That's got to be a little depressing."

Jeff grinned. "Not at all. If this is who you were, it would be a comfort to comfort others."

"That makes no sense to me."

"That's because you're always stirring up a hornet's nest. Come on. Let's get you home. And then I need to go find Nick and make sure he's all right."

"That's good," Dagny said. "You go now. I'll get myself home. I swear I'll be fine without you, _mom_."

"Not cool," he called at her retreating figure. She waved in his general direction. "_So_ not cool."

**o o o**

"Our _Grey's Anatomy_ musical is falling apart at the seams!" Hana cried.

Blaine looked up from where he sat on the edge of Kurt's bed with his guitar across his lap. He'd finally figured out what was wrong with his rendition of _Here Comes the Sun_ when he mentioned it to Eliso. She'd taken pity on him and given him a capo. A whole new world of songwriting had been opened up to Blaine with that simple device, and Miles had given his blessing for Blaine to begin playing piano again. He still couldn't play for very long, but he felt alive with creative energy nonetheless.

"I'm sort of writing a song?"

Hana ignored Blaine's polite attempt at telling her to go away. She threw herself into Kurt's desk chair and spun around while she ranted.

"Dagny and Nick broke up last week, so now that's incredibly awkward. Jeff doesn't quite have that womanizing quality he should have. Plus, since we're all teenagers, we look ridiculous pretending to be doctors. Also … where are my songs? You've been holed up in Kurt's old room writing for how long now, and I don't have a single musical number for the characters yet."

Blaine shuffled around on the bed to hide his open lyrics journal from Hana.

"Why do you look guilty?" she demanded.

"Well, Hana. The thing is … I've been writing songs, but … they're not exactly for _Grey's Anatomy, The Musical_."

"Then what are they for?"

Blaine took a steadying breath. "They're part of a musical. They go with a libretto … that no one has written yet?"

Hana's cheeks flushed deep red. She jumped up from the chair and paced across the small expanse between desk and wardrobe with her fists clenched and lips pressed into a tight line. Blaine laid the guitar on the bed behind him. If she decided to attack, he didn't want his new favorite instrument to get caught in the middle.

"What is wrong with everyone lately!" she screamed. "All anyone wants to talk about is going home! Have you all forgotten that you have lives and responsibilities here too? Blaine, you haven't gone to a single summer session class, which means you're going to get kicked out of College Track courses in the autumn. You also didn't learn any of your lines before you came on set yesterday. If you did that during an official production, you would have lost the lead and maybe been blacklisted entirely."

Blaine pursed his lips. "Okay. I know I should be more engaged, but – "

"No! You can't forget about the life you have for the one you wish you could have."

"What about working hard to achieve a dream?" Blaine countered. "My dream is to go home."

"Your big dream is a _boy_? I thought you were better than that, Blaine."

A shadow passed over Blaine's face, and Hana deflated quickly. She tried to walk back her words, but she stumbled over them.

"That _boy_ is Kurt," he said darkly. "Maybe you can forget the people you love so quickly, but the bond Kurt and I have can't just be tossed aside or replaced. You love destiny, Hana, so let me put this in terms you can understand. Kurt and I are destined to be together."

"Star-crossed lovers never have a happy ending," Hana murmured. "Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Jack and Rose … they're tragedies for a reason, Blaine."

"I'm already living the tragedy part. I won't give up on my happy ending."


	54. Forty One

**FORTY-ONE**

Kurt hadn't been to Breadstix since he'd gotten back just over a month ago, but now that he was here, he wondered why he'd ever liked this place. Bella Notte was vastly superior. The food at Breadstix didn't even taste Italian in comparison to Luigi's culinary treats.

"Are you not hungry, Kurt?" Mercedes worried.

"I had a big breakfast," he lied.

Kurt had finally agreed to meet up with Mercedes and Tina after Mike brought up his promise a third time during one of their ballet lessons. At first, Kurt had fallen back on the excuse of being grounded, but it became clear shortly thereafter that his dad had no intention of enforcing any kind of grounding if that's what Kurt actually wanted.

"Mike said your dancing has gotten really good," Tina said. "That got us thinking. Mercedes and Rachel and I thought we might go to that club in Columbus that has teen night on Thursdays. What do you say? Will you come with us?"

What sounded good to Kurt on Thursday night was a movie, but movie nights were never the same at home. In Here, the best part of the thrill was stopping by the library on Thursday afternoon and fighting for a decent VHS, and if you didn't get one, laughing with good friends on the way home about the terrible movie about to be watched and made fun of.

"I don't know. I'll have to check my rehearsal schedule. Did you know I'm playing Jack in _Into The Woods_ at the community playhouse?"

Mercedes and Tina exchanged a significant look on their side of the booth.

"What?" Kurt asked.

"It's just …. We're really happy for you, Kurt, but everything you've said so far has been about … work. We're teenagers, and it's the summer. We're supposed to do things that are fun and serve no purpose but to be fun," Tina said, not unkindly.

"I have fun!"

The girls glanced at each other again.

"It's like you've been in a funk ever since you got back," Mercedes said. "We totally get that this past year was really hard for you, and adjusting hasn't been any easier. But you're not yourself, Kurt."

"Yeah. We miss the Kurt who used to critique our fashion choices before saying hello and talked about reality television as much as he talked about music."

"We can't really relate to you anymore, Kurt," Mercedes concluded.

Kurt listened to their list of criticisms with a tight jaw. His fork lay abandoned on the god awful plate of overcooked, watery pasta and he pleated the napkin in his lap for several minutes before responding. He'd talked to Briony at length about empathy, but in moments like this, he forgot everything she'd told him to try when he wanted nothing more than to hurt the people who loved him.

"And once again we're talking about how _you're_ coping with _my_ trauma," Kurt said pointedly. "Honestly, Mercedes, you are every bit as self-centered as Rachel, but no one ever calls you on it because you're not as obnoxious about it."

Kurt frowned at Tina's shocked expression.

"By all means, Tina, just sit there and say nothing like you always do."

"Boy, I'm willing to grant you some slack because of your condition," Mercedes started, shaking her finger at Kurt, "but you do not talk to me like that. And leave Tina alone because she's never done anything to you or anyone else."

"Then leave me alone," Kurt snapped back. "You had Mike practically beg me to hang out with you so you could criticize me and how hard I'm working to achieve my dreams? If anything is uncalled for, it's that."

"Kurt," Tina said quietly. "We're just worried about you. You … you had a mental breakdown, and now you're not acting like yourself. We just want to make sure you're talking to someone and getting the help you need."

Kurt's temper flared. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops that he was not crazy, but unfortunately, only crazy people shouted from rooftops.

"I don't have a mental illness. The story I told Rachel? It's all true. What's wrong with me is that I've lost the love of my life, the person who supported me in my darkest hour. What's wrong is that I've come home to a group of friends who don't believe me and don't respect that everything I've been through has changed me."

Kurt slid out of the booth and threw his cloth napkin down on the seat. Mercedes and Tina looked on the verge of tears, but not tears of sadness or anger. It was pity he read on their faces. With shaking fingers, he dug through his messenger bag and pulled out two reprints he had intended to give them over lunch and tossed them down on the table.

"His name is Blaine. Thanks for caring enough about me to ask about the boy I love."

Kurt stormed out of the restaurant and climbed into his Navigator. He took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel. His ringing phone snapped him out of his fury, and he saw the person calling was just who he needed.

"Hey, Briony …. Absolutely. You have no idea how badly I need to get away for a few days …. Yeah, I'll tell you all about it on the plane. See you tonight."

**o o o**

Kurt had never packed a suitcase so fast in his life, and the abundance of new clothes to pick from wasn't making the decision any easier, but Briony had texted him the itinerary, and he didn't have long to get to the airport in Columbus. From there it was New York onto Belfast, and missing one flight meant throwing off the whole schedule.

"Where do you think you're going?" Burt asked.

Kurt paused with his suitcase hanging off the stair below him. "I was going to leave a note."

"Saying what exactly?"

The boy pulled his heavy suitcase up the remaining two stairs and let it roll across the entrance tile. He rubbed at his lower back and wondered if he'd packed too much for a weekend trip. His dad was still waiting expectantly for an answer.

"That I had to go away for a few days, but that I would be back."

Burt's eyes fell on the blue rectangle in Kurt's hand. "Is that a passport?"

"I'm going to Ireland."

Burt breathed out a harsh sigh and pointed at the kitchen table. Kurt checked his watch, and decided that he had time for a five minute explanation of why he was going to Ireland. He slid into his customary seat at the table, and his dad sat across from him.

"Okay, Kurt. There are rules in this house, and I realize that 'no travel to foreign countries without prior permission' isn't explicitly stated, but I thought it was sort of implied. And this comes right after I get a tearful phone call from Mercedes saying she thinks you've had a relapse, and last week it was Will Schuester telling me he's worried about you."

"Tell them to mind their own business!"

"I did! But they're not without their points, Kurt. You haven't been yourself lately. You're isolated, you're moody, you're –"

"A teenager. I really have to go, dad. My plane leaves in two hours, and I have to get to –"

"Sit down!" Burt yelled.

Kurt dropped back into his chair. He felt small and contrite when faced with his dad's anger.

"Now, I get that you've been through a lot, Kurt. You've gone through the grieving process twice in a year, and that takes a lot out of a person. I also know that losing the person you're in love with is different than losing a person you love."

"It's not just that, dad," Kurt sighed. "Yes, I miss Blaine more than I can express. But I've been an independent adult for seven months. My guardians trusted us to be responsible professionals, and we hardly ever did anything wrong. The worst thing we ever did was steal a sewing machine. And Blaine and I stayed out all night stargazing. I can't just go back to _Father Knows Best_."

"I'm not asking you to do that, Kurt. You've always been a good, responsible kid. All I'm asking is for some respect."

Kurt's lower jaw trembled, and he ground his teeth together hard to fight the tears threatening to wash over his cheeks, but he couldn't hold back the surge of anger and hurt for long.

"What you're asking for is your little boy back, but you can't have him anymore, dad. You moved on!" Kurt cried. "Lost things aren't always tangible. I heard my voice singing a song only you heard. You call Finn by my nickname now."

Burt looked away sharply and blinked rapidly.

"When I was lying on the ground having the life beat out of me by a homophobe for something as simple as holding my boyfriend's hand, it wasn't your name I was crying for in my head. I will always love you, dad, but I gave up on depending on you a long time ago."

Burt pressed his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes, but the tears came regardless.

The hollow place inside Kurt twitched, like it wanted to summon compassion. For the first time, it scared him that he couldn't feel anything, and his mind darted to the e-mail Briony had sent letting him know she'd faxed in a prescription for him. He had finally succeeded in hurting every single person who loved him. He had made himself truly alone in this world.

"I have to go, dad."

Burt didn't stop him when he rose from the chair and wheeled his suitcase out the front door. A quarter hour later, Kurt sat in the pharmacy parking lot with the white envelope in his lap. The tiniest movement sent the pills rattling against their plastic bottle.

**o o o**

"You look like hell," Briony said.

"Nice to see you too."

They met up at their busy gate in JFK International Airport an hour before their plane left for Belfast. Kurt had already been at the airport for two of his three hour layover and had read every fashion magazine he could buy at the newsstand.

"Want to talk about it?"

"You're not on the clock."

"No, but I am your friend too."

Kurt shook his head. He didn't want to rehash the conversation with his dad right now. He felt like a terrible, worthless person for even confessing his resentment. It wasn't his dad's fault he'd forgotten little things about Kurt or that he'd tried to live as normal a life as he could while Kurt was gone. Kurt didn't understand anymore why he did the things he did.

"Okay, but I do expect to hear about this at our next official session," Briony said. "And if you change your mind, it's a long plane ride."

"I do have one question, and then psychoanalysis is off the table for the rest of the weekend." She nodded encouragingly. "How long does it take those pills to start working?"

"Anywhere from three to eight weeks, but you'll start to notice you're gradually starting to feel better before then. I'm really proud of you, Kurt. There's a stigma about depression, but sometimes we need more help than we can give ourselves or than anyone can give us."

Kurt wondered if she suspected that Dagny had been in a mental hospital for years, and how she would react if he mentioned it now. The idea startled him, it was so needlessly cruel, and suddenly, swallowing that little pill every day seemed like a really good idea.

"So Cillian's family. You said you'd tell me about them."

"Right."

Briony pulled out a file folder from her carryon and flipped through the pages with Kurt. The first sheet was a list of family members and contact information. There were facsimiles of newspaper articles about Cillian's disappearance, his obituary when he was declared dead, and marriage announcement when his wife remarried. There were also photographs taken from what looked like a high school website.

"Cillian's ex-wife wants nothing to do with us, and his son wasn't very receptive when I called. But Cillian's grandson …"

She pointed to a picture of a teenage boy singing on stage. Kurt sucked in a gasp. Minus sixty years and a cane, the boy and Cillian were spitting images of each other. They had the same dark hair and sparkling eyes. He imagined the notes coming out of the boy's mouth a rich baritone with surprising range.

"… was more than willing to hear about his biological grandfather. Apparently, he's heard more than once how alike they are."

"I'll bet," Kurt said. "So we're meeting him?"

"Yeah. He'll be there at the airport in Belfast and will take us to a hotel in Londonderry. He wanted to offer us a place to stay in his house, but he didn't think his dad would be too thrilled about that. He's a nice kid. I think we can get through to him, even if the rest of the family refuses to listen to us."

"I owe Cillian to try. So what's this kid's name?"

"Rory. Rory Flanagan."

A voice over the loud speaker announced boarding had begun for flight 218 to Belfast. Kurt and Briony collected their things and queued up at the gate with their boarding passes out. Whatever happened with the Flanagan nee O'Leary family, it was sure to be a landmark weekend for Kurt, Briony, and their new cause.


	55. Forty Two

**FORTY-TWO**

"Did you hear?"

That was what everyone in Here was asking. Blaine heard the question four times in passing just crossing the short stretch of Broadway between the practice building and apartments. The cool air conditioning of the ground floor offered him a reprieve from the sweltering early August heat outside. Many voices talking over each other raised a din in the dining room. Lunches were hardly the most social meal among the company, and yet from the fullness of the room, everyone had turned out for the noon meal.

Blaine queued up with his friends and grabbed a plate and utensils from the countertop. He had to nudge Jeff in the back to get his attention.

"What's going on?" Blaine asked.

"Didn't you hear?" the blond wondered.

"Camille Guerin is gone," Dagny said excitedly. "She disappeared last night, and the search teams haven't turned up any evidence. _She went home._"

An electric thrill passed up Blaine's spine. Part of him had wondered if maybe only Kurt could go home, if maybe his boyfriend was more special than anyone else and he alone could cross the barrier. But now there was proof, actual proof, that anyone who wanted it badly enough could go home too.

"That's incredible!" Blaine laughed.

"It's our turn next," Jeff said, beaming widely. "I just know it."

Hana and Nick did not sit with their friends at lunch, and from their table across the room, they wondered if Blaine, Jeff, and Dagny even noticed. They were so engrossed in their conversation about Camille and home that they would have missed a giant purple rampaging dinosaur tearing up the lunch line.

"Kurt's my friend, and I know how much he means to Blaine," Nick said, "but I wish he'd never come here. Everything is changing now, and I used to love my home."

Hana nodded emphatically. "I agree. Everything happens for a reason, and we were meant to come here."

"So … you're not leaving?"

"I'm not going anywhere. Here is a much better place than where I came from. Whatever everyone else says about how they came here, they _wanted_ to come here. They _wanted_ to escape and find a better place, and they did. But I'm not wishing myself back there. Not for anything."

A smile bloomed on Nick's sullen face. "I'm relieved to hear at least one of my friends isn't going to abandon me."

"Never."

**o o o**

The enthusiasm that came on the heels of Camille's return home remained high throughout Here, but for Blaine, it faded into a dead ember the instant Administrator Duval's personal assistant knocked on the apartment door.

"What are you doing here?"

Nick's voice filtered through the closed bedroom door, and Blaine's pen paused in the middle of a song lyric. He heard an unfamiliar male voice responding, and then Nick tapped lightly on Kurt's door.

"Blaine? There's someone here to see you."

For a few days now, Nick had been surly and closed off, which Blaine supposed was only to be expected given Dagny's account of his birthday party, but he sounded more angry than depressed now. Blaine marked his place in the notebook and stepped into the common room.

Armin Behr sweated in his pressed black suit. Blaine had met the man only twice, and both times at election parties Nick's dad forced him to attend and which Blaine had come to for moral support. The Chief Administrator's assistant paying a visit to a teenager was highly unusual, except that Blaine had information no one else in Here did.

"Administrator Duval would like me to bring you back to the Administration for a meeting," Armin said. The German accent painting his words made everything sound harsher, like an order, and it set Blaine on edge.

"I'm a little busy right now."

"It is very important."

Blaine agreed reluctantly and went to put on his shoes. He didn't think showing up to a meeting with the Chief Administrator in flip-flops would be the best idea, but he didn't bother to put on dress pants. His plaid pedal pushers and white polo would have to do.

The walk across town was tense and silent. The combination of humidity, lack of breeze, and a tailored business suit meant Armin practically melted on the walk. Blaine, however, felt almost comfortable in his light clothes, although humidity did do terrible things to his curls.

They climbed the stairs to the fifth floor where the Chief Administrator kept his office, and Armin showed Blaine into the meeting already in progress. All of the Administrators sat around the conference room table, including Soren and Anjali. They offered him reassuring smiles as he took a free seat.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Anderson."

Mr. Duval acted like he didn't know Blaine from Adam, and maybe he didn't, Blaine realized. The man was so disconnected from his son's life that he might not even know who Nick lived with.

Blaine could guess why he'd been summoned to this meeting, but he wouldn't assume anything and start talking to a room full of government administrators without being asked a direct question first. He looked sidelong at Soren, who shook his head infinitesimally, so Blaine kept his mouth shut.

"As you know, Mr. Anderson, two teenagers have disappeared from Here, one Kurt Hummel and one Camille Guerin. They have supposedly gone back to the other side. As you can imagine, this is causing quite a bit of upheaval. Our citizens need to be assured, and our new arrivals need the best information we can give them. I've been informed you were with Mr. Hummel when this happened. Will you recount for us those events?"

Mr. Duval had been in government back home too, and it showed in the formal tone he engaged even in a meeting with a teenage boy. Had he not mentioned Kurt so casually, Blaine might have laughed at the pretention.

"No."

The answer startled even Blaine. He had meant to tell the story he'd told a hundred times already, but sitting across from the man who had refused to allow Anjali to prosecute Parrish and the others who had attacked him and Kurt, he felt rebellion welling up inside him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Before he went home, Kurt was terrified that Parrish would attack him again. He couldn't sleep at night, and Parrish being on the loose is the reason Kurt even started thinking about going home again. You're the cause of that, Mr. Duval. So, no, I won't cooperate with you. I won't make your life easier, Mr. Duval, because you didn't spare a thought for Kurt."

The Administrators around the table stared at Blaine with degrees of approval, shock, or anger depending on their personal support of the Chief Administrator.

"I didn't bring you in here to criticize my policy decisions!"

"And the people of Here didn't vote for you so you could micromanage the other Administrators. What part of the Constitution of Here even allows you to intercede in a criminal investigation?"

Soren and Anjali looked on the verge of laughter or cheers or both, but they schooled their features, and Soren jumped into the conversation before Blaine suffered the full wrath of the Chief Administrator.

"With due respect, Mr. Duval, Blaine has already told his story a number of times. He was very close to Mr. Hummel, as you know, and speaking about him at length must be emotionally draining. As I said earlier today, calling him into this meeting has served no purpose but to upset everyone."

"Noted," Mr. Duval grumbled. "Nonetheless, we're no closer to figuring out what to tell the citizens of Here. There are crazy rumors flying around about going home that are going to negatively impact the functioning of our town."

Blaine listened to the debate and let the Administrators forget he was sitting there. From the sound of it, Mr. Duval refused to accept that they could go home and several Administrators were with him on that count. Mostly, however, he heard arguments against telling the public the truth.

"It's settled then. Mr. Anderson, you are not to give instructions to anyone else about returning home," Mr. Duval declared.

Blaine arched his brows. "Firstly, I think it's too late to cover up the possibility of going home. Secondly, what you're asking me to do is infringing on my freedom of speech, so once again showing your disregard for the Constitution. And, thirdly, what about when they ask me where Kurt went?"

Bright splotches of red appeared on Mr. Duval's cheeks. "You have quite the attitude, Mr. Anderson."

Blaine knew he meant it as an insult, but all Blaine could hear was Kurt's voice saying: "_See. You have some fight in you after all_." He smiled at the words he accepted as a compliment.

"Should anyone ask you about Mr. Hummel, you will pretend you don't remember him. He wasn't here that long. He'll be forgotten soon enough."

The derisive laughter that erupted from Blaine's throat could not be stopped or tamed. He had tears of mirth glistening in his eyes within a few seconds.

"Clearly, you never met Kurt." His humor faded into grim seriousness. "I'll repeat my earlier sentiment, Mr. Duval. No. No, I will not pretend the boy I love never existed."

Blaine pushed his chair back and stood from the table. Before leaving, he addressed the Administrators one final time.

"Your plan, to pretend this isn't happening, is terrible. It won't work, and it's such a cliché government response that you should be ashamed of yourselves."

Blaine's strong façade lasted just long enough to get him to Soren's office where he collapsed into a straight-backed chair in the lobby. His legs felt shaky and his arms trembled slightly. The adrenaline rush faded into niggling worry in the pit of his stomach that he'd gone too far, crossed a line that could not be forgiven.

"Where did that come from?" Soren called.

He bounded into his office ten minutes later with a bright smile and Anjali on his heels. Jeff's foster mother looked ready to break into a dance. They ushered Blaine into the inner office and shut the door to make their conversation private.

"Wherever it came from, assertive is a good color on you, Blaine," Anjali laughed. "The Administration voted to tell the whole truth to the public. We're having another meeting about how to do that, but I suspect a flier about going home to end up in the arrival packet pretty soon."

**o o o**

Camille was not the last person to go home that week. News trickled in that Luigi, who owned Bella Notte, had vanished on Thursday. Anjali dutifully sent out search teams in case the disappearing were actually injured or ill, but the panic and speculation that had accompanied Kurt and Camille's departure did not continue as the third, fourth, and fifth citizens of Here went home.

Not everyone loved the idea of going home. For every conversation about how to leave, there was another about staying in Here. Some families, like Soren and Gabriel, would rather remain in Here together than risk being separated. Blaine said his good-byes to his adoptive uncles after they reached the decision so that when he did leave, he didn't regret not telling them how much they meant to him.

Those who had regular contact with other towns and cities found themselves inundated with telegraphs and video messages once word got out that people in Here were disappearing. They, too, wanted to know how to go home. The cities with the worst shortages were desperate to find out how to send their citizens home, but interest from the smaller towns where supplies were plentiful was personal curiosity only.

"So how many is that now?" Dagny asked.

"Last I heard, the total for every city and town is twenty-one," Jeff said. "That's not a lot, but still."

"You'd think Kurt's friends would know better how to get home than strangers who never even met him," Blaine said.

The three friends sat around Dagny and Jeff's living room with some horrible made-for-TV monster movie playing on the television. The selection had been even more pitiful at the library than it usually was during the summer, and the bad movie only dampened their spirits more.

"I don't understand," Blaine blurted out. "I'm pouring out my soul into these songs, I'm fighting for what I believe in. Why haven't I gone home yet?"

"Search me. I've been wondering the same thing about myself," Jeff confessed.

"Well, it's not a mystery to me." Dagny stole the popcorn bowl from Blaine like it was the most important thing happening right now. "Obviously, you're both more than what you think you are. Stop underestimating yourselves. Really set the bar high, and once you reach that goal, then you'll go home. Look at what Kurt had to do. He had to give up one dream – playing the great romantic roles – for another – becoming our leader. You're both kidding yourselves if you think what you've gone through is as painful as that."

"So you're saying there's something about ourselves we still haven't come to terms with?"

Dagny nodded at Jeff. She watched the boys closely, noted the way they turned introspective, and the fear and hesitation that stole over their faces when they realized what they had to do. Dagny herself had only just figured out what she had to do to get home. She didn't blame the boys for their hesitancy.

"I know," she said softly. "It's flipping terrifying, isn't it?"

No one answered. They didn't need to, because they all understood that to go home, they would have to face their greatest challenge yet, and none of them were sure if they had the strength and courage to pass the test.


	56. Forty Three

**FORTY-THREE**

Kurt was surprised to find his dad, Carole, and Finn waiting for him at the airport in Columbus when his plane landed on Sunday night. He'd driven his Navigator to the airport specifically so he wouldn't inconvenience them.

"I'll go get the truck," Finn offered, after giving Kurt a welcoming hug.

"Don't worry. He's not driving your Navigator home," Carole assured him.

While Carole went to wait for Kurt's suitcase at the baggage claim, Burt led Kurt over to a soft bench closer to the rental agencies. The flight, and a weekend with very little sleep, had exhausted Kurt. Rory was a friendly, outgoing guy who had showed Kurt and Dagny all over Northern Ireland. But the effort of talking about Here again was emotionally taxing.

"So how'd it go?"

"We showed him pictures of Cillian. It's pretty clear to see the resemblance between them beneath the white hair and wrinkled skin. I don't know if he believed that Here exists, but he at least believes I know his grandfather and think he's a good man."

"I suppose that's the best you could hope for."

Kurt nodded. The new silence between them stretched, and Kurt felt compelled to speak, to explain that he was broken and didn't know how long until he would be fixed, but that he hadn't meant what he'd said, and he was sorry, even if he couldn't feel sorry right now.

"I know, kid," Burt said. "I know. You and me, we've always had a synergy that's never been thrown off balance until now. We'll get back there, Kurt. No matter what it takes or how much we both have to compromise. You're my son, and I'll never give up on you."

Kurt buried his face in his dad's flannel-covered shoulder and let the tears flow. When Carole rolled his suitcase over, she rubbed gentle circles into his back until he felt composed enough to dry his cheeks and walk to the parking garage with his head ducked. Burt drove the Navigator home with Kurt stretched out in the backseat and Carole beside him up front.

"We'll be all right," Burt told her, but Carole had already known that. Nothing could keep the Hummels apart: not questions of sexuality, not hurt feelings, not even impenetrable barriers between worlds.

**o o o**

Settling back into a routine became surprisingly easy for Kurt. Jet lag knocked him back for a day, but he recovered quickly enough to meet Mike for dance lessons on Tuesday and restart vocal lessons on Wednesday morning. He even managed to find time to attend a musical at the Dayton playhouse with Rachel.

"I talked to Mercedes and Tina," Rachel began tentatively.

"Oh."

"I don't think they believed me when I told them it was all real and I was wrong for luring you to the NYU hospital. They think I've gone round the bend too now. But I did manage to convince them to cut you some slack. I think if you apologized, then they would too."

Kurt kept it in mind for later. He wanted to discuss it with Briony first, and maybe replay the conversation in his head a few times before talking to Mercedes or Tina. He ended up saying hurtful things, Briony had pointed out, when he was unprepared.

Nightly rehearsals for _Into the Woods_ began the first week of August. Seeing Mr. Schue was inevitable. To his surprise, his teacher didn't require an apology. Maybe it was an adult thing to forgive teenagers their hurtful moods, but Kurt thought it more likely Mr. Schue, like all of the McKinley teachers, had received an e-mail from Briony regarding Kurt's medical condition.

"You're looking much better, Kurt," Mr. Schue greeted.

There was a touch of pity in his voice that Kurt hated, but Briony had talked him around to following the cover story. When humans felt in the know, especially teachers regarding their students, they were much more cooperative and forgiving, and Kurt was going to need both when school started again.

"I had a weekend away. It gave me some perspective."

The statement probably sounded odd considering Kurt had only just gotten back in comparison to how long he'd been gone, but Mr. Schue let it pass without comment. They made small talk, with Bryan Ryan frequently interjecting, until the director arrived fresh off closing up his dry cleaning business and started rehearsal.

There were times that week that Kurt felt _Into the Woods_ was too ambitious for community theater and too challenging for three quarters of the cast, and he suspected others thought so as well on numerous occasions. This first occurred to Kurt during the Prologue when five of the nine individual songs sounded horrendous, two decent, and two almost passable.

The cast pulled it together in the end, with much frustration along the way, but much slower than any production Kurt had been involved in before. _Sweeney Todd_ was easily as difficult to stage as _Into the Woods_, and yet a group of students had managed it just fine. It was a struggle not to vent his criticisms during rehearsal.

During one tearful episode where Little Red Riding Hood wailed about Bryan Ryan's voice overpowering hers, Mr. Schue and Kurt took seats in the front row to wait out the waterworks.

"You have gotten so good, Kurt. I'm blown away. You were great in _Rocky Horror_, but now …. I think we should talk about the school musical and what part will highlight your talent. I'm thinking maybe we try _Cabaret_ again?"

Kurt started to say that he absolutely wanted to play Emcee, but he stopped himself. He had other plans for the school musical, and yet, turning down the role of Emcee was almost too much.

"Actually, Mr. Schue, I'd hoped we could do an original play this year. I've been writing one, and I think it's pretty good. I've let Rachel read a little bit, and while she hates it because there isn't a lead role for her, she thought it was good too."

"He sings, he acts, he dances, he writes. Is there anything you don't do, Kurt?"

"Sports."

"Of course we'll give your play consideration, Kurt. Glee club wrote original songs for competition, so why wouldn't we write an original play? Give me a copy by the start of the school year, and I'll bring it up in glee."

**o o o**

Kurt was more nervous on opening night than he had ever been before a show, including the televised Lonely Hearts Club performance. Not only was the audience full of critical eyes, but his family and friends were filling seats near the front. This was the first show his dad would ever see him in.

Kurt bounced on the balls of his feet and checked his wardrobe and makeup in the vanity for the sixth time in ten minutes. A stream of text messages wishing him luck had come to his phone earlier in the night, but he'd shut it off now to concentrate on his performance. He would have given anything to have Blaine's comforting but equally nervous presence behind him. He felt stronger, like he could shine brighter, with Blaine beside him.

The photograph of Kurt and Blaine dressing for _Sweeney Todd_ occupied the lower left corner of the vanity. Kurt picked up the glossy print and held it at eye level. He couldn't be closer to Blaine tonight, so a memory would have to do.

The director called for places, and the next thing Kurt knew he was on stage beneath the burning lights singing his part of _Prologue: Into the Woods_, and then he was singing _Giants in the Sky_ and then _Children Will Listen_ and bowing along with the rest of the cast as the curtain fell. Over three hours had passed on stage, but to Kurt it was a blink of the eye.

"Let's go say hello to everyone," Mr. Schue said, clapping Kurt on the shoulder.

It became clear that "everyone" meant New Directions, Miss Pillsbury, Coach Beiste, and Kurt's family. Kurt still hadn't seen half of the glee club members, and he dreaded a public reunion, but there was no way to avoid it now. He was pulled into tight hugs and heard whispered words about how much they'd missed him in his ear.

"You did amazing, Kurt," Tina said, quietly and sheepishly. "I believe you. You've always been good, Kurt, but there's no way you got that good in a make believe world."

Kurt squeezed her tightly in a second hug. "Thank you, Tina. And I'm sorry for how I spoke to you. I … I'm just really sorry."

He was pulled away into another embrace, this one from Puck, but Tina sent a reassuring smile after him to let him know that everything was forgiven. Only Quinn and Sam were absent from the glee club reunion, but no one mentioned why they weren't around and Kurt was too busy fending off affection from his friends to ask.

"So what's customary after a killer opening night?" Burt asked, beaming proudly at his son. "Pizza? Ice cream?"

"Ice skating," Kurt said, without missing a beat.

There was a moment of silence when everyone tried to work out if Kurt was making a joke or being crazy and making a serious suggestion.

"Rinky Dinks it is," Mr. Schue said at last.

**o o o**

"I am so jealous!" Rachel yelled over the loud music.

Kurt skated with Rachel on his left arm and Tina on his right. The other members of New Directions weaved in and out of the crowd around them, their skill levels varying, none of which had changed much since they'd tried and failed to hold rehearsals here sophomore year. The only difference was that, this time, Mercedes was ignoring Kurt and he was ignoring Mercedes.

"You have credits, Kurt. Credits!"

"If you want credits so badly, why didn't you audition? You would have been perfect for Little Red Riding Hood," Tina said, leaning around Kurt.

"I did audition," Rachel pouted.

"What? How did you not get a part?" Kurt exclaimed. "And why didn't you tell me?"

"I always audition for community theater, but I've never gotten a part before. Why do you think I push so hard in glee club to have all the solos? Because no one else appreciates my talent! I didn't say anything because I was embarrassed. You're so much better than me now, Kurt."

Kurt cooed at her and leaned his temple against the top of her head. "I know you take dance class. What about voice lessons?"

"Excuse me?" Rachel shrieked.

"I have three lessons a week, plus two acting classes. You could ride with me to Columbus if you enroll in the same classes. What song did you audition with?"

"_I Feel Pretty_."

"_Oh_. Yeah, that's not a good song if you're trying to prove you can play Little Red Riding Hood," Kurt informed her. "Maria is an innocent girl in love with the wrong boy. Little Red Riding Hood is a precocious child. Totally different dynamic. Something from _Ruthless_ would have been perfect for you."

Tina burst out laughing, and Kurt followed shortly after. Rachel pouted at both of them.

"That was unnecessarily mean."

But Kurt and Tina couldn't stop laughing. Tears rolled down their cheeks, and they had to glide over to the wall to support themselves. Eventually, Rachel gave into the self-deprecating humor and cracked a smile.

"Oh, girls, how I have missed you," Kurt gasped, wrapping an arm around each girl. They kissed him on both cheeks. "Oh, ew, girl kisses," he said, pretending to be disgusted. They kissed him again.

It was the first time since he'd been home that Kurt had truly laughed and felt like part of New Directions again. Not everything was back to normal or perfect, but it was on its way to something better than Kurt had hoped for.

"So are you coming to see my next three performances?"

"Of course we are! And you're coming back to school shopping with us next week, right?" Tina asked. "Seriously, Kurt, we only have nine days until school starts, and I just can't pick out a wardrobe without you."

"I can," Rachel said.

"No, you can't," he returned sharply.

"I'm thinking of a new look for junior year," Tina said.

Kurt refused to talk about anything but fashion and shopping plans and salon appointments the rest of the night.

**o o o**

Kurt's high hopes for senior year were dashed, however, on Monday afternoon during registration. Because he had missed the end of school in June, he was to go through the same registration process as transfer students. Miss Pillsbury was not alone in her office when Kurt and Burt came in to sign up for classes. Mr. Schue and Principal Figgins occupied chairs around the room.

"What's going on?" Burt asked, once the obligatory handshakes were done. "I didn't realize we needed the principal and glee club director to sign my son up for classes."

"Mr. Hummel," Principal Figgins began, trying to sound genial, "Kurt missed most of last year. You can appreciate that we can't let him continue on to senior year without completing his junior year first."

Kurt stirred in his chair and leaned over to whisper to his dad all the college-level courses he'd taken, but Burt was ahead of him already.

"Kurt was in school all last year."

"Excellent," the principal said. "You will need to contact his other school and ask them to fax over his transcripts, and then he can enroll in senior classes."

Kurt's hope faded, and Burt put a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Will you excuse us for just a minute?" Burt asked.

He led Kurt out into the hallway and around a corner, but Kurt didn't need the pep talk that was coming. Of course, his old school couldn't send transcripts. Even if they could, McKinley had no equivalent linguistics and musicology classes. He sighed deeply and slumped against the wall.

"I can't believe I have to spend two more years in this place."

"Hey. Maybe there's something we can do. You could test out of some classes or take some night classes. You're taking how many dancing and singing and acting classes right now, plus rehearsals? You're telling me you wouldn't give up a couple of those to graduate on time?"

"I couldn't test out of the math or science. I was scheduled to take those classes summer session. We can look into night classes, I guess, but …. I wanted my senior year to be memorable, not a workload I can barely manage and days that I coast through on three hours of sleep. I can't give up any of my extra music lessons if I want to get into a good musical theater program."

"So what do you want to do, Kurt?"

Miss Pillsbury printed off his class schedule twenty minutes later with a sympathetic smile in the corner of her mouth, and Mr. Schue patted him on the back as he made his way out of the guidance councilor's office.

"I'll see you at home, kid. Have fun BeDazzling your locker or whatever."

Rachel and Tina were waiting for Kurt by his locker. They had agreed to meet at McKinley and take Kurt's Navigator to Columbus so they would have plenty of room for all their shopping, and while they were at school, they might as well decorate their lockers.

"Let's compare schedules," Rachel said, pulling out a sheet of paper she'd stuck gold stars all over.

"If I'm comparing schedules with anyone, it's with Tina and Artie," Kurt said. "Kurt Hummel is back at McKinley … as a junior."

"No!" the girls gasped. "That is so unfair."

"I'm a gay male with a mental illness in Ohio. Having to repeat junior year is the least of what's unfair about my life. Let's just drop it, okay? I don't want to ruin a perfectly good shopping day."

The girls nodded, but didn't lose their pitying expressions. Kurt growled and waved his hands at them.

"I mean it! No pity parties here. I've had enough of that. Let's do something fun. Let's … talk about how much cuter my boyfriend is than either of yours."

Tina squealed when Kurt dangled a picture of Blaine in front of her. She made grabby hands and fawned over Blaine's classic good looks. Rachel tried to defend Finn's boy-next-door charm, but only half-heartedly. She'd been smitten with the dark curls and hipster chic look too.

"I can't wait to meet him, Kurt. He's amazing, isn't he?" Tina sighed.

"What's his voice like?" Rachel demanded.

While they gabbed about their boyfriends and gossiped about the other hookups and breakups Kurt hadn't been around for, they decorated their lockers with photos and magazine cutouts. Kurt had also brought his supply of emergency wardrobe changes, towels, and arsenal of hairspray early. The centerpiece of his locker, however, was a picture of Blaine in a magnetic frame and beneath it a reminder of how Blaine had always been there for him from the first moment of the first day they met. The advice was especially apropos while Kurt waited for Blaine to come home.

Courage.


	57. Forty Four

**FORTY-FOUR**

Jeff left the full company meeting in the practice auditorium with a list of potential ideas for the circus in September. He wasn't qualified for the acrobatics shows, so he'd need to brush up on his clown makeup and juggling if he wanted to work in front of an audience. The circus had never been his favorite part of performing, but he couldn't deny that the people of Here loved it.

"Are you coming to the movie tonight?" Dagny asked.

She skipped up beside Jeff with a bright smile. Dagny, of course, loved the circus. Her ballet training made her perfect for acrobatics. She did the silks, and some of her shows approached Cirque du Soleil levels of strength and contortion.

"No, I have other plans."

Her smile slipped. "But they're showing _Inception_ again."

"Exactly. _Again_. I'll see you at home tonight."

Dagny shrugged and went to join Blaine and Hana. She and Nick had come around slowly over the past week. Maybe they thought it was inevitable that their friends were going home and wanted to part on good terms or maybe they hoped to change their minds. Either way, the dynamic was no longer the same among their group. Every conversation, no matter the subject, felt like Home versus Here.

Jeff broke away from the performers and made his way down Broadway. Now that the sun sank lower towards the horizon, only the residual heat of a scorching day lingered. The cicadas sang raucously as Jeff took the well-worn path to the hospital, and the fireflies began lighting up the sky on his final approach.

He double checked the room number on the slip of paper he'd scrawled it onto and proceeded through the solemn lobby/waiting room. The rubber soles of his trainers squeaked against the overly waxed and polished linoleum as he wound his way through the corridors and too many sets of double doors to count. At last, his feet hit faded, pale pink carpet. The sign over this last doorway read: Recovery and Rehabilitation Center.

"Can I help you?" a nurse in pink scrubs asked.

"Room 024?"

Jeff marveled at nurse's unchanging voice and lack of judgment. He followed her pointer finger across a circular lobby of mismatched armchairs and old magazines to a light wood door propped open with a rubber stopper. With a nod of thanks, he moved around the furniture clustered in the waiting area and slipped into Room 024.

It was bigger on the inside than he'd imagined. The narrow hallway fanned out into a large, boxy room with light blue plastic chairs arranged in a circle. A whiteboard with the meeting times printed in neat block letters stood at the head of the room outside the circle. A few people milled around the room with name tags pinned to their t-shirts and dress shirts.

Jeff stopped by the table with halved index cards, markers, and straight pins. He wanted to scrawl "None of Your Business" on the name tag, but settled for writing his name. Any one of these people might know him anyway from his performances.

"So much for anonymous," he muttered darkly.

"Ain't that the truth." The speaker was a short Black woman with an ironic smile on her painted red lips. She was maybe forty and dressed professionally like Jeff imagined accountants dressed for work, not that there were accountants in Here.

"I'm Angela."

"Jeff."

"Well, Jeff, aren't you a little young to be here?"

He smiled tightly. "I've never had a drink in my life, and I don't plan on ever having one."

"Oh. So you're here to judge us?"

"I'm here to find out why you ruined your lives and everyone else's who loved you."

Angela arched a brow dramatically. "Sounds plenty judgmental to me. Your dad or your mom?"

"Mum," Jeff admitted grudgingly.

"Well, then, have a seat. Maybe you'll learn something tonight, like how a life isn't ruined just because it's gotten off track. Lord knows everyone in Here has been derailed for years."

When Angela looked up from her seat to motion for Jeff to sit down next to her, she saw only a streak of blond hair retreating out the door.

Jeff burst from the hospital doors and staggered to a halt at the end of the walkway. His breathing came laboriously, and his legs felt too weak to stand, so he stumbled over to a bench and dropped his head into his hands.

_Everyone in Here has been derailed for years_.

The words refused to get out of his head and leave him in peace. Angela's voice repeated the words again and again until her Southern American drawl turned into a too familiar New Zealand voice that had told him bedtime stories and sang scales with him and, later, yelled at him for speaking too loudly in the mornings and told him that if his sisters were hungry, he should make them dinner.

_Everyone in Here has been derailed for years_.

Action or inaction, either could become an addiction, either could be used as a means to avoid a problem. His mum making herself miserable by drinking herself into oblivion wasn't so different from Jeff making himself miserable by refusing to do the hard work necessary to go home. Everyone was afraid of something, everyone ran from something. It was only a matter of what and when and how much courage it took to rectify a terrible flaw.

The tears flowed hot and fast, but lasted no longer than half a minute. Jeff rubbed at his eyes and cheeks to erase all evidence of the breakdown.

He understood now that self-acceptance alone wasn't enough for him.

**o o o**

"I'm not sure I'm speaking to you."

Blaine rolled his eyes at Hana's melodramatic antics. Ever since _Grey's Anatomy, The Musical_ had fallen apart, she'd been snippy with Blaine. She liked to blame him for not writing songs about the characters, but in reality, the movie musical had ended the way every movie musical in Here ended: in disaster.

"Oh, come on. I didn't sabotage your musical."

"Well, you certainly did nothing to help me make it work."

"Movie musicals never turn out well here," Dagny chimed in.

Blaine gestured to her, as if to thank her for the backup. Hana huffed at both of them and resolutely ignored them until they had their seats in the theater's mezzanine.

"I don't know why they always fail. I thought I could make it work, like Kurt made _Sweeney Todd_ work when it should have been a clammy."

"Calamity."

"That doesn't sound like a real word," she informed Dagny. "Anyway, I don't understand why our movies never turn out very good."

"Probably because no one here understands how to act in front of a camera or how to direct a movie," Blaine speculated. "Our takes always go way too long and the camera hardly ever moves. When it does, it's shaky and distracting."

"You could have told me that, and we would have stood a better chance at succeeding," Hana grumbled.

"Give it a rest, Hana. Blaine did his best, and he wrote some fantastic songs, if Nick and Jeff are to be believed. When are we going to get to hear them?"

The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hadn't intended on letting anyone hear his songs until he'd gotten better at writing music and lyrics, not to mention that he still had to look at his fingers when he played guitar. He supposed he could play them on piano now that his shoulder was getting stronger. The songs were so intimate, however, so specific to the way he felt about Kurt, and he wasn't sure he wanted to expose his raw emotions for the world to hear.

"Maybe later," he mumbled. "Hey, Hana, what do you think about doing a magic show at the circus again this year? Our last show went over really well."

Dagny rolled her eyes at the abrupt shift in conversational topics.

"Oh, that was fun! But we are not trying that saw-me-in-half thing again. I was sore for a week scrunching myself up into the top half of the box. Are you and Nick going to play rival magicians again?"

"If Nick wants to do the act again. We can find something else besides sawing you in half. Can you slip a knot?"

"Of course I can! What kind of magician's assistant do you think I am?"

Talking about work, and a show that had the potential to actually succeed had gotten Hana back into a good mood. Dagny let them discuss their details while she daydreamed about what kind of silks show Alannah would choreograph this year. Dagny was dying to do something upside down. She had to bring that up when they started practicing.

"It's really good to see you like this again," Hana commented to Blaine. "I think it's a very good thing you're coming to terms with living here."

Dagny and Blaine exchanged a knowing look as the lights in the theater dimmed and the projector reel cast bright, white light onto the screen. Hana clearly had the wrong idea about the intention behind Blaine's actions.

"What _are_ you doing differently?" Dagny whispered.

"Fall semester starts next week. You'll see then."

**o o o**

"_Come on_," Dagny whined, tugging Blaine's arm. "The movie was really cool, but I just want someone to tell me what happened."

Blaine laughed jovially and let the girl pull him past the third floor landing and up the stairs to her fourth floor apartment. She took this as a sign of victory and did a happy dance up the steps. Hana called goodnight and disappeared into her apartment. Ebele and Amara tended to get touchy if she stayed out too late and woke them up when she came home.

The lights were off in the apartment when Dagny turned the key in the lock. She flicked the switch on and bathed the empty living room in dull yellow light. Jeff's bedroom door stood open, but she tiptoed over anyway and poked her head inside. The bedclothes were a tangle like Jeff always left them, but her roommate was nowhere to be seen.

"Jeff?" she called.

No answer came from the other end of the apartment. With a shrug and a yawn, Blaine stretched out on the couch. Dagny, however, rushed around the apartment to peer into the hero kitchen that was hardly ever used, the bathroom, and her own bedroom.

"Why would Jeff be in your bedroom?" Blaine yawned. "Oh my God! _Dagny!_"

"What? No!" She threw a throw pillow at his head. "Is that what you're all gossiping about downstairs? Teenagers."

"How old are you again?"

"Shut up."

"Just wondering. But I'm pretty sure your age ends with a _–teen_."

"Shut up, shut up!" She beat him playfully with the throw pillow. "I'm worried about Jeff. He was really vague about his plans night, and he never stays out this late."

Blaine's eyes darted to the clock. It read 11:10. "We are the most abnormal teenagers ever."

"What if he went home?"

Dagny chewed her thumbnail and curled up on the sofa beneath Blaine's knees. The boy pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"You sound worried, but it would be a great thing if he went home."

"Would it?" she asked.

"Of course. He would be with his family again. He'd have a chance at feeling whole and happy. What would be the bad part of that?"

"What if we're not friends when we get home? Jeff lives so far away. He's literally on the other side of the world. And San Francisco and Edmonton and Lima aren't exactly close either. It won't be like it is here. We won't be a flight of stairs and two doors down from each other. They'll be entire states, provinces, borders, _oceans_ between us."

Blaine chewed on his bottom lip, because he hadn't thought that far ahead. He wanted so badly to go home and be with Kurt that he hadn't considered what would happen next. A map of North America popped into his head, and he traced a line from Alberta to Ohio. He had no sense of the miles between his hometown and Kurt's, but it certainly wasn't a flight of stairs and two doors down.

"We will always be friends, Dagny. We've been through too much together to let something like distance come between us. Things will be different there, but that doesn't mean we have to feel differently about each other."

"You're so wise, Blainers."

"Don't call me Blainers."

"When do you think Jeff will be home?"

"Honestly? I think he already is."

"Me too."


	58. Interlude: Sterlings

**INTERLUDE**

Sound echoed in the nearly empty Waitaki High School gymnasium. Conversations meant to be private amplified off the concrete walls and bounced back to the entire group. Alice Sterling had learned over the years to stay silent or to speak in whispers, but there were new faces nearly every week who hadn't learned the trick yet.

The group leader called everyone to gather around in the fold up metal chairs placed in three concentric half circles. Alice took her customary place in the second row to the left and smoothed her pressed pinstriped skirt around her knees. A glance at her watch told her they were starting five minutes late, which meant she'd be late picking up the girls again. Johnny wouldn't like that, but he usually didn't get too mouthy about it when it happened on a Thursday night.

At times like these, Alice missed Jeff's accommodating nature and gentle kindness most. He'd been such a good helper around the house and with his siblings. But then, as Alice and her therapist discussed regularly, that was probably why Jeff had run away in the end. It'd been too much for him to take, and he'd walked away.

Alice knew it was her fault. It was the guilt, not the alcoholism, that had sent her to therapy in the end. She'd stolen her son's childhood to avoid her own problems, and look what she'd done.

The group welcomed a new member to their number today. Vincent was new to the Dunedin area and recovering for seventeen years. Alice tried to listen to his inspirational story, but she found herself checking her watch again. She felt like she was very late to something, but she never scheduled showings on Thursday nights.

The meeting moved on to other members and their stories, some of them meeting their personal challenges and others falling short or off the wagon, and still Alice couldn't shake the feeling that she had somewhere else she should be. She began tapping her foot faster and faster until Marilyn, who sat beside her, nudged her lightly with her elbow.

"I have to go. I'm late for something important," Alice whispered.

"What?"

"I honestly don't know."

Alice left the gymnasium as quietly as heels on a basketball court allowed and hurried through the deserted school corridors to her car. Johnny didn't answer when she rang, so she shoved her mobile back into her purse and pulled out of the lot with the same growing anticipation sending her fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

"You're early," Johnny pointed out when Alice walked through the door at a quarter after seven. "I thought your meetings didn't end until seven-thirty."

"They don't, but I had to leave. I felt like I was terribly late for something, and I ended up at home. I don't know why."

Johnny frowned deeply at his mother and shooed Gwendolyn back to her spot in front of the television to watch _Tin Man_. She was a bit young for that show, and Alice meant to say something about it, but Johnny reclaimed her attention again.

"How long since your last drink, mum?"

Alice pursed her lips. "Three years, eight months, and fifteen days. You don't forget a day like the police coming round to tell you one of your children has gone missing."

"Yeah. Most parents realize it before the police get to their house, though."

Alice sighed deeply and turned away to watch Gwendolyn watching the television. She had apologized countless times over the past three years, eight months, and fifteen days for what she'd done to her children, but Johnny couldn't forgive her for the things she'd done. Alice tried not to blame him, but she did resent it nonetheless. Gwendolyn and Michaela had accepted her, warts and all, and she just knew Jeff would too, if anyone ever found him again.

"Where's Michaela? She should have been home by now."

"Studying in her room," Gwendolyn called over the television. "What do you think you're late for, mummy?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. Any ideas?"

The girl opened her mouth wide, probably to issue one of her adorably farfetched stories, but the ringing doorbell cut her off.

"Maybe this is the big moment!" the girl called, clapping her hands. "Michaela, come out to the living room! Something big is going to happen in about five seconds!"


	59. Forty Five

**FORTY-FIVE**

The strangest part of Kurt's first day back at McKinley was, surprisingly, not Mr. Schue's purple pianos. It was, in fact, the jock block's reticence to bully, harass, taunt, or demean him. Unless he was much mistaken, the jocks were afraid of him. Whenever he appeared in the hallway with his wonderfully flamboyant clothes and cadre of hairspray, they ducked their heads and moved to the other side of the corridor.

_What is wrong with the jocks? –K_

Kurt tossed the note onto Tina's desk. She started at the sudden appearance of the folded sheet of lined paper on top of her syllabus. The only class they'd ever had together was glee, and passing notes was superfluous since talking over each other worked even better. Now that they had almost every lesson together, however, Kurt would need to get her trained to intercept his notes more stealthily.

Junior year redux was going be deadly boring, that much became immediately clear upon examining his various syllabi. He'd covered all of this material at the start of last year, but even later units had been subjects he'd studied much more thoroughly in Here. Save for pre-calculus and chemistry, he would be learning nothing new in school this year.

Thus, Tina really needed to stop being so obvious about unfolding the note under her desktop.

_Stop reading it under your desk! That's exactly how our phones get taken away. We're going retro. They don't suspect a thing. Did it all the time with M. –K_

Kurt tossed the second note onto her desk. Tina sent him an annoyed glare, opened the second note under her desk, and then rolled her eyes. Kurt reached across the aisle and snatched both pieces of paper off her desk. He sent the first note onto Artie's table instead.

_Being interrogated by the police, FBI, and your dad's creepy private investigator will make even the most muscular, homophobic jock bow his head in respect to you. –A_

FBI. Kurt didn't realize they had gotten involved. He knew his dad and Briony had spoken to someone while he was in the hospital in New York, but he'd been too distant to care about anything they told him then.

Thinking about those days just after he'd left Here sent Kurt's mind sailing away from the overcrowded classroom and boring lecture about the importance of American literary traditions. The little things had given him the most trouble: the dirty air, the too cold water, the different frequency of the white noise, the paper money.

Missing Blaine had come in spurts and stops since he'd come back three months ago. In those early days, he'd thought the ache would never ease, that it would consume him completely, and it almost had. Over the past few weeks, and no doubt thanks to the pills he took daily and his renewed friendships, it had become easier to function without Blaine. The ache never went away entirely, and at moments like these when there were no performances or lessons or friends to distract him, it returned in full force.

Suddenly, Kurt sat up ramrod straight in his desk. Fear washed over him. Distraction made him miss Blaine less. And they were always, _always_ distracted in Here.

Blaine might not miss Kurt at all.

Kurt bolted from his desk and out the classroom door. He vaguely heard Mrs. Watson calling after him, but Kurt never looked back. He ran to the one place that his tormentors had never breached: the girls' bathroom.

His hands clenched around the porcelain sink until the skin under his fingernails pulsed, and his arms trembled with the effort of squeezing the immovable object. His clammy skin looked deathly pale in the mirror, and his features twisted like a scream wanted to burst from his throat.

"Kurt!"

Tina burst through the door. He registered shock and fear on her face, and then he was falling. His hands dropped to his sides, his knees buckled, and he sank to the tiled floor. Tina's arms wrapped around him, and her long hair tickled his face.

"Sssh. Everything's going to be okay, Kurt. It's okay," she whispered comfortingly while she rocked gently back and forth.

"What if he doesn't miss me?" Kurt cried.

Tina's breath stuttered. "It's impossible not to miss you, Kurt. Take it from someone who missed you for seven months. And I'm not even _in love_ with you."

"I don't know for sure that he does love me."

"Yes, you do. We all do. Everyone who has seen the picture in your locker practically vomits up rainbows you two are so sickeningly in love."

Kurt sat up and brushed at his wet cheeks. Tina climbed to her feet and pulled a length of toilet paper from the nearest stall and handed it to him.

"I've been hoping for months that he'd come home, and I know it could take much, much longer than that. I'm willing to wait for him because he's so worth it. But I never considered if he would even want to come home. I've thought about if he _could_, but not if he _would_. Missing me, it can't possibly be enough to make him come home."

"Do you really think that little of yourself, Kurt?"

"You don't understand, Tina. He has everything there. Close friends, adopted family, success, fame. He's been there so long I don't even know if he thinks about his family anymore. He never mentioned them unless I brought up mine first. There's no reason for him to give up all of that."

Tina wrapped a hug around his torso and dropped her head onto his shoulder. She didn't say anything for a long time, but Kurt didn't expect her to say anything at all.

"Did you know Coach Sylvester's sister died this spring? Finn talked glee club into helping with the funeral. She wrote a really touching eulogy. She said that when you really love someone, you feel tethered to them. I think that's true. No matter how bad the fight you just had or how far apart you are, you feel that person inside you. Do you feel Blaine?"

"Yes."

"Do you have faith that he feels you too?"

"Yes."

"The thing about tethers, Kurt, is that you can't resist their pull. So dry your eyes, because he is coming home."

**o o o**

It startled Kurt sometimes how naïve Rachel could be. Just when he thought it could get no worse than pulling spaghetti out of his hair and finding blue Jell-O in his pocket, she charged up to his locker post-college counseling session to declare that Julliard did not have a musical theater program.

"How did you not know this? It's the first thing I noticed when I looked at their information packet this summer."

Rachel tripped over her words, but recovered quickly. "There's another school Miss Pillsbury told me about. It's called NYADA. New –"

"New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts."

"What. How have you even heard of that school?"

"Blaine's dad went there."

The indignant expression faded from Rachel's face. "Oh. Well, I found out that they're having a mixer in –"

"Dayton. Do you want to car pool?"

Rachel threw her hands in the air. Kurt took that to mean 'yes,' and texted her details throughout the day. To prove that she wasn't a total rube, she prepared a dance number they were supposedly going to wow the other NYADA applicants with. Kurt, who had lived and worked with theater hopefuls for seven months, didn't quite agree that the other applicants would pack up and go home.

In hindsight, and especially when he had a tearful Rachel Berry slobbering next to him, Kurt wished he'd prepared her a little more for what they were walking into. Even he had been taken aback by the abrupt greeting and over-the-top dance number, but at least he'd been able to hold his own when Harmony had demanded to know:

"What are your names and what are your credits?"

"Kurt Hummel. Beadle Bamford, _Sweeney Todd_; Jack, _Into the Woods_; and Lucifer, Arthur Miller version."

Rachel, however, had no credits because _Cabaret_ and _Rocky Horror_ had both been cancelled and no one had ever taught her the proper way to audition for community theater. She was inconsolable the entire ride home and was still begging Kurt to tell her how NYADA was when he started in 2013. She would be doing _Nunsense_ in Cincinnati under an assumed name.

"She had a bit of a shock tonight," Kurt told her dads delicately.

"The worst part of it," Rachel shriek-cried, "is how much you fit in with them, Kurt! Your credits obviously intimidated that Robert Pattinson fanboy! I am all alone in my misery!"

If Kurt thought that had been the end of it, however, he was dead wrong. Rachel had picked herself up overnight and marched into glee club with the air of a diva about to demand the walls of her dressing room be repainted to a pleasant rosy pink with gold star accents before she would do the audience the great pleasure of singing for them.

"Fellow glee club members, I believe that after pushing the envelope last year that we should secure the rights to something less controversial for our school musical. Wait for it … _West Side Story_!"

"Actually, Rachel, we already have a show," Mr. Schue replied. "You all wrote such great songs for Regionals and Nationals. It turns out we have an equally talented playwright in our midst. Kurt has written an original play that I think we should do."

Kurt fought the proud smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. From the smiles and pats on the back, it was clear his friends were interested. All, that is, except for Rachel.

"A play? No, I need a musical credit if I want to get into NYADA," Rachel protested.

"Rachel, I just said this is a play that Kurt wrote. It's an original play never performed before. You'll be an originator of a part."

Rachel shook her head defiantly. "Our school performs a _musical_ every fall, not a play. If it isn't a musical, we can't do it."

Kurt's happiness dipped into a bitter frown, and he set his jaw to stave off the torrent of angry words threatening to be unleashed on Rachel. Mr. Schue handled the confrontation as poorly as he did every time Rachel refused to let anyone else take the spotlight. That is, he didn't handle it at all. He let her talk and threw her disappointed glances that she ignored.

Kurt left the choir room with the bell, and not surprisingly, Rachel trailed after him to his locker prepared to justify her selfishness.

"I'm sorry, Kurt, but I need my NYADA application to stand out, and if all I have to show for it is a first place Regionals win with glee club then I'm not going to get in. You saw how good the other applicants are last night."

Kurt refused to acknowledge her.

"This is my last year, Kurt. You already have so many amazing credits, and playwriting is going to put you on the top of the candidate pool. You'll have next year to have your playwriting showcased, but I only have a couple weeks before the application deadline, and I need a musical credit on there."

He pushed the last of his books into his locker, shut the door, and spun the lock before turning to stare down Rachel.

"That makes sense. My friend Jeff, he was a senior last year, so we gave him the lead roles in our play and musical to give him an advantage when he joined the main company. But you know what's different, Rachel? If the roles were reversed, Jeff would have gladly swayed in the background. You, however, refuse to be a team player. You may get into NYADA, Rachel, and you may get the lead in every musical you love, but nothing you touch will ever be a success because you refuse to work _with_ others. I won't fight you if you push to do _West Side Story_. But one day you'll look back on this moment and think about all the friendships you tossed aside for a role in a high school musical."

Kurt was halfway down the corridor before Rachel called after him.

"Friendships?"

"A good musical is selected based on the voices you have, Rachel, not the ambitions of one cast member."

"Why is this play so important to you?" she called desperately.

"Other than the fact that it's my original work?" Kurt sighed sadly. "Because it's about the boy I love and might not see again for a very long time."


	60. Interlude: Andersons

**INTERLUDE**

Headlights cut through the descending night and cast wide circles onto the rising garage door. The grumble of the mechanisms and the rumbling engine provided a backdrop to the tense silence inside the car. George peered over at the passenger seat; Mary stared hard out the window at the suburban house she would call her home.

"It's about the same size as our house in Edmonton, but the kitchen is bigger. The laundry room is downstairs, but it's a finished basement. I use it as the music room. We have room for a baby grand now, if only we could afford one on a teacher's salary."

George chattered on about the house Mary would be walking through in thirty seconds to reassure her that this wasn't a new life; it was an extension of their old one. He helped his wife out of the car and up the three steps to the door that connected the garage to the kitchen. He had purposefully left the lights on when he went to get her so she would come home to an inviting place.

"I'm not much of a decorator," George said self-deprecatingly. "I'm counting on you to take down the rooster wallpaper and put up something less country."

Mary meandered through the house not saying much, but they had been together so long George read her thoughts by the lift of her brows and twitch of her mouth. She liked the hardwood floors, but not the area rugs he'd chosen. She liked that the master bedroom was on the first floor, but not that the bathroom wasn't attached. She liked that there were two upstairs bedrooms: one for guests, one for Blaine.

"We can bring his things out of storage, Mary, if that's what you want."

"No. No, if he comes home, we'll buy him new things that he likes. He'll be so much older."

George felt the metal bands around his ribs breaking free and his breath coming easier. The doctors said Mary was well enough to come home and be on her own while George went to work. He would have to dole out a cocktail of pills to her every morning and night, but she was beyond institutionalization now. He had wondered, though, if anyone ever really moved beyond their psychosis.

"George, darling, is there a porch light?"

He made a strangled sound in his throat. "Would I buy a house that didn't have one?"

"Let's go turn it on. It's already so dark out."

The concept of leaving the porch light on when they'd moved to another country should have seemed preposterous. But then a porch light would have never helped Blaine find his way home anyway. The act of turning on the light every night comforted George, and he felt grateful Mary still wanted to leave the light on for Blaine.

"I'm sorry for all the horrible things I've said to you," Mary murmured.

"Ssh. There's no need for apologies, Mary, darling."

Her lips lifted into a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes yet, and she nuzzled her nose against his neck. George breathed in sharply. It had been so long since he'd held his wife close. The softness of her skin, the scent of cinnamon and clean linens, the tickle of her curls against his cheek reminded him of better days before they'd gone to support groups and spent all their free time printing out missing persons fliers; when he'd played the old upright piano and she'd danced around with Blaine on her hip; when they'd been a whole family.

"Do you think he could find us, George, in this new house?"

The answer was logical. Of course, Blaine could find them. His name was flagged with the RCMP, FBI, and Interpol. But Mary had never possessed an analytical mind. She felt her way through life like George felt music.

"Life has a funny way of leading us to exactly where we need to be. Just think, darling, if a tone deaf, bookish, Columbia freshmen hadn't gotten all turned around on the subway and ended up interrupting a bright-eyed, aspiring musician busking in Washington Park, then where would we be?"

Mary laughed into his neck. "I was a little pushy about it, wasn't I?"

"And right in the middle of _More Than This_ too. Sacrilege."

"It's still my favorite song. It means more to me now that I've lived the lyrics."

"Me too."

"Sing it for me?"

"What? A cappella? Maybe if I had the Warblers to back me up. If you want me to sing, come down to the music room where I can find a little accompaniment."

Five minutes later, with Mary as a rapt audience, George began the song which everyone beyond childhood could relate to, but that he felt particularly drawn to for the way the song had followed him through his life. From his tape deck in his parents' house to Mary interrupting his busking to the last public performance Blaine ever gave.

"_I could feel at the time_  
><em>There was no way of knowing<em>  
><em>Fallen leaves in the night<em>  
><em>Who can say where they're blowing<em>?"

* * *

><p><strong>Credits:<strong> Lyrics to Roxy Music's "More Than This" by Bryan Ferry.


	61. Forty Six

**FORTY-SIX**

The disappearance of Jeff brought home to Nick and Hana how quickly their other friends could be leaving them. Kurt they had liked immensely and considered one of their own, but Jeff had been Nick's best friend and Hana's first boyfriend. Whereas Kurt had left a hole in their circle of friends, Jeff left a canyon.

As school started up for fall term, Nick and Hana appeared at the customary table overlooking the brick wall every morning; they walked to school with Blaine; and they said not a word about the possibility of him and Dagny leaving them very soon.

Blaine appreciated their presence, but he also kept his distance emotionally. He knew the day was coming when he would leave Here, because he, like Jeff, accepted the hard work he had to do on himself, and it was about to commence.

Nick and Hana stood dumbfounded as Blaine left them behind in the College Quad and strode across the courtyard to where Parrish leaned against the wall casually tripping younger students who rounded his corner. He flinched when Blaine appeared in his line of vision, and braced himself against the wall, as if to push off and run quickly.

A hurricane erupted in Blaine's chest. His heart fluttered wildly, and a lump closed up his throat. Sweat dotted his temples and the palms of his hands. But he did not tremble or recoil, and when he spoke, his voice was remarkably calm given the storm raging beneath his skin.

"I want you to know, Jonas, that I will never forgive you for what you did to Kurt, and I will never forgive the people who let you get away with it. But I will move on with my life, and Kurt will move on with his. I want to help you move on with yours. You already know what you did was wrong, but you need to know why it was wrong. You need to be educated, and so do a lot of people in this school and in this town. I'm going to make sure they are."

Nick and Hana had edged closer to overhear what Blaine had to say, and to intercede if Parrish took it badly. The bully, however, barely reacted to Blaine's words.

With considerable effort and fear, Blaine turned and walked over to his gaping friends. He braced himself for a flurry of fists, because Parrish always attacked when his victims were most vulnerable, but no blows came his way.

"Anderson," Parrish called. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to reform? Am I supposed to tell you that I've had a change of heart and I don't think faggots are disgusting?"

Blaine's blunt fingernails dug into his sweaty palms.

"I'm talking to you!"

"I'm done listening."

Parrish's jaw flexed angrily, but they were in a crowded courtyard, and he'd had his nose broken when he'd pushed Blaine too far. The bully slumped against the wall, turned his head away, and pretended that made him the winner of the conversation.

**o o o**

Word of Blaine's metamorphosis spread around certain groups within the school like wildfire. The GSA heard first, being friends and astute watchers of Parrish's bullying, but the news got around to others who had been tormented by Parrish and his friends too. And when the first campaign poster went up around school the next day, absolutely everyone from grades six through twelve gossiped about the sudden turnaround and the reason for it.

**VOTE BLAINE ANDERSON FOR STUDENT BODY PRESIDENT**

**Here comes the sun.**

The Blaine Anderson they had known at school was timid, bullied. He was nothing like the young man they saw on stage nearly every weekend. In fact, his school persona and stage persona were so drastically different, many of his classmates hadn't made the connection that the kid who entertained them nightly went to their school and sat in their classes.

Whether or not a junior could be student body president, and it seemed the school rules didn't forbid it since he'd been allowed to submit his name, was irrelevant. Within a day, everyone knew the bright, stylized sunrise-and-rainbow poster. Nick, Hana, and the entire GSA had taken to stuffing pamphlets with the same colorful design outside and Blaine's campaign promises inside into their bags and handing them out before class and during passing periods.

_**I believe every student should have:**_

_A safe school environment._

_Creative expression._

_A voice in school policies._

_The ability to remain in Here or return home._

_**If elected, I will create:**_

_A zero tolerance, no bullying policy._

_Creative arts workshops with The Wonderland Company._

_Student Government sessions open to all students._

_A "buddy system" for new arrivals and hopeful departures._

"So this is your big plan," Nick said.

History of Imperialism was set to begin in five minutes, and Nick filled that time with flipping through the pamphlets Blaine had printed (at great personal cost to his yellows savings). The vibrant cover drew curious stares from the rest of the class, so Blaine eagerly passed them out.

"Yeah. I think this might be my last step. Confronting my bullies, not running away. But if it is … I'll need someone to take over and make sure my campaign promises are met. What do you say? Will you be my Vice Presidential running mate?"

"Only you could get me into politics. Of course I'm in."

The final campaign pledge garnered the most attention. Everyone wanted to hear the story about how Kurt went home. He had become legendary, and no matter how many other people went home, Kurt would always be known as the first. When elementary classes talked about the history of Here, they would learn about Kurt Hummel. It boggled Blaine's mind that his boyfriend was a legend in one world and destined to become legendary in another. He felt so lucky to be loved by Kurt Hummel.

Unlike the campaign posters, not everything was rainbows. The posters themselves were magnets for homophobic graffiti, and Blaine came to school more than once to find profane words written in black marker over the posters he'd so carefully made. Nick or Hana or another GSA member, which had become something of a grassroots organization, would replace the posters diligently. Harder to control were the vicious rumors and aspersions regarding his character. For his part, Nick handled the rumors about himself remarkably well.

"Oh, come on," he said, when Blaine tried to apologize. "I'm a guy who loves Shakespeare and Sondheim. I was always going to have to come out as straight. The good news is that we're up by five points."

Blaine took the student newspaper edition from Nick across dinner and scanned the article about the straw poll that had been done earlier in the week. The editor of the paper had endorsed Blaine as "the only candidate with independent vision." His eyebrows arched at the description. No one had ever called Blaine independent before, and it wasn't a term he would have applied to himself either. But seeing it in print, he realized the last three months had forged him into a different person; into a young man who could think for himself and motivate himself and heal himself.

"You're going to be an amazing president, Nick."

"What?" Hana and Dagny asked. Their heads snapped up in unison, and they stared wide-eyed at Blaine.

"I won't be here much longer. I can feel it." He touched his knuckles to his chest. "It's hard to explain, but I can feel myself … shifting, almost. I feel like I'm standing on a seesaw, and I'm so, so close to tipping over. I'm pretty sure Kurt felt it too. He was so unsettled the last couple of days he was here. For him, it was realizing he could go home that sent him back. I haven't figured out what it is for me yet."

When they said their goodnights three hours later, the girls lingered overly long by the door. No one said "good-bye," but no one said "see you tomorrow" either.

Nothing was the same after that night. It felt like Blaine was a soldier about to be shipped off to a distant war, and his friends were preparing themselves for an extended absence and the probability of never seeing him again, but no one knew when his orders would come, only that they would one day soon. Cillian and Ciara picked up on the mood of their wards, and although they tried to conduct business as usual among the company, it was clear that they too would miss Blaine terribly.

**o o o**

"Settle down!" Cillian shouted.

The din of voices slowly died down as the full company took their seats in the practice theater to discuss preparations for the circus. The tents had been constructed in the town square already, and more equipment was brought in every day. Walking down Broadway or streets feeding into the park came with a kaleidoscopic beauty when strips of vibrant primary colors peaked between buildings and the warm wind whipped tent flaps and flags high over the rooftops.

"Everyone should have signed up for their act by now," Cillian began. "If you've not done that, do so after the meeting tonight. We're assigning tents and performance times tomorrow, so if you're late signing up, you might not have a spot. Now then, let's talk about the elephant in the room."

"Oh. Haha," Caroline grumbled.

"Everyone has a great time at the circus during the day, but we've gotten complaints for years that there's nothing interesting happening at night except the pantomime, which apparently has a pretty limited appeal. So this year, we're trying something a little different. We have a stage, and Mateo will be in charge of _Here's Talent_. It'll be open to everyone in Here, in the company or not, to highlight their unique talents."

A murmur of interest went around the room. The company regularly broke into smaller groups to do side performances, but it wasn't often they could draw huge crowds to watch them shine individually. Mateo took over from Cillian.

"Before we commit to the idea completely, I want to hear some ideas from within the group. The point of the show isn't to do what the people of Here already know you can do. They'll want to see something new. So what do you have?"

There were some surprising answers: eidetic memory, archery, (supposed) mentalists; and some not so surprising answers: playing rare instruments, unique dance styles, yodeling. Blaine added to the not-so-surprising list.

"Songwriting."

Dagny, Hana, and Nick clapped their hands onto his shoulders and arms and punched the air. They'd been waiting a long time to hear Blaine's songs performed live.

At last, when he wasn't hearing anything groundbreaking anymore, Mateo put his hands into the air to call for order. Not everyone obeyed the silent command, but voices died away slowly and order returned within a minute.

"All excellent talents. We'll start advertising for the show and see who else we'll be up against."

After the meeting adjourned, Blaine's friends hauled him up to the apartment. He laughed good-naturedly and let himself be manhandled up the stairs. Once inside, he smoothed down his rumpled black polo and straightened his bowtie.

"Theater kids. No sense of personal space at all."

"We want a sneak preview of what you'll be singing for _Here's Talent," _Dagny said.

Blaine pretended to consider when everyone knew he'd already made up his mind to play the songs for his friends. He trusted their judgment, and he wouldn't sign up to sing his songs in public if they weren't good enough.

"Okay. I guess you can hear one or two."

He retreated into Kurt's room to gather up his sheet music and lyrics. He hadn't had the chance to combine them all together yet. Some music existed without lyrics and some lyrics without music. Blaine thumbed through the pages deciding on which songs were the most polished and which were so rough he'd be embarrassed to have anyone listen to, much less formally trained singers.

"Do I need to hum the _Jeopardy_ theme song?" Hana called.

"No!"

But his friends broke into a rousing chorus of hums – interspersed with giggles – a few seconds later anyway. Laughing at their antics himself, Blaine scooped all his sheet music into one pile and balanced the songwriting notebook on top. He took the neck of his guitar in his free hand and hurried across Kurt's bedroom.

"Okay! Okay!" He laughed. "No need to hum yourselves hoarse. I'm ready to let you hear my songs."

Blaine passed through the doorway, but he did not step into the common room.

**END OF BOOK TWO**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So we have come to the end of Book Two together, dear readers. I cannot express just how much I love each and every one of you. Your reviews, alerts, favorites, recommendations, and messages mean the world to me. I know this was a tough book for all of us with Kurt and Blaine being apart. I'm flattered that you've stuck with me this long, and I hope you stay for Book Three to see how this all plays out. Book Three is much shorter than the first two books. It is seven chapters long (including Interludes), so the finale is coming up soon.

If you haven't yet, you can find me on tumblr and twitter. My username both places is: arainymonday. I've had such a great time getting to know some of you, and I'd love to meet more readers.


	62. Book Three: There's No Place Like Home

**BOOK THREE**  
><strong>THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME<strong>

**INTERLUDE**

The Wonderland Company gathered in the practice theater next to the apartments to hear an audition. Hana took her place at the center table while Nick made his way onto the stage. The company quieted down at their leader's signal and gave him their full attention.

For fifteen years now, Nick and Hana had run The Wonderland with the same methods and spirit as their predecessors. When Cillian and Ciara had retired, they had chosen Nick and Hana as their replacements. The company needed reliable leadership who would remain here even when others returned home.

Nick and Hana were home, and never once in twenty-five years had they considered leaving Here. The town had changed considerably, as all towns do over time. The 1930's charm remained in the buildings, but not in the people. The camaraderie of being stuck in the same place together had vanished long ago, though the sense of melancholy had been replaced with hope.

Very few faces from their teenage years with the company remained in the audience tonight. They had mostly been replaced with eager young talent. Some of the old company members still puttered around town in Cillian's old golf cart, but most were interred in the cemetery next to the late Irish couple or had gone home long ago.

"Our audition tonight comes from a young man who arrived in Here last month. His name is Anson Hartley, and he will be showcasing his singing tonight. Please give him a warm welcome."

Nick took his seat next to Hana at the center table. She had already laid out a notebook and pen for him to take notes during the audition. Unlike Cillian, Nick did not appreciate the chaos that had come with auditions in the old days. It was himself, Hana, and a third rotating company member who decided on the new talent. Tonight, it was Yunjin.

"I'm getting too old for this," she grumbled.

Anson flounced onto the stage in an ensemble that would have made Kurt proud. In fact, if Nick wasn't mistaken, he'd seen Kurt wearing that exact outfit in an old edition of _People _that had arrived in Here. Yunjin took off her glasses to obscure the vibrant colors and patterns of the teenager's clothes. Nick bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the old woman, and Hana elbowed him hard in the side.

"Stop giggling like a teenager. You're going to make me laugh too!" she hissed.

On stage, the eager and flamboyant young man beamed at his audience. Anyone would think he'd been here for years and gone through the grieving process long ago, but Nick knew otherwise. When Anson had arrived, he'd been taken directly to the hospital and there he had stayed until last week. Even now, Nick saw the way certain movements sent a flash of pain over his face and how he favored his left leg.

The other side had come a long way in twenty-five years, but no world is a utopia.

"Hello, my name is Anson Hartley. Thank you for coming out tonight to hear my audition. I will be singing tonight _Wunderkind_ from the Anderson-Hummel Broadway classic _Here With You_. As you know, this song is sung twice in the musical, once by Liam and once by Connor. I've chosen to sing Connor's version of the song."

The Wonderland Company grinned in appreciation. They never tired of hearing songs from Blaine and Kurt's musicals, especially not their breakout hit inspired by their time together in Here. Of course, it was risky too, because those who remembered Kurt and Blaine's voices held them in the highest regard.

"So you are a countertenor?" Hana inquired. "And you're aware that some of us know Kurt and Blaine personally?"

"Yes, I am a countertenor," Anson gushed. "I apologize if my song choice is at all insensitive to his friends in Here. There aren't many countertenor parts in musical theater except for the roles Kurt Hummel originated."

"We're not offended," Hana assured the boy. "We do an Anderson-Hummel musical every November. Please, begin when you are ready."

The boy on stage nodded, and the orchestra played the first notes of the song Blaine had written in Kurt's bedroom so many years ago.

Not for the first time, Nick marveled at the universal presence of his old friends. Like the legends who had come before them, their legacy spanned across decades and worlds.

Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson could be found everywhere.


	63. Forty Seven

**FORTY-SEVEN**

Blaine's eyes shifted around the room he found himself standing in. He'd never been here before, he was sure of it, and yet there was a comforting familiarity. It was not unlike the room The Carrollers practiced in. Plastic chairs lined a three-tier riser and short rectangular windows topped a soundproofed wall. A baby grand piano and band equipment sat around the room that contained hallmarks of a classroom: a white board and a window looking into a teacher's office.

He felt foolish carrying around his guitar; borrowed from Eliso, but now technically his to keep since he couldn't give it back, so he placed it in a free stand by the other guitars. He peered into the office, but no teacher sat behind the desk. He pivoted, glancing around and taking in useless details: the clock read 11:35; _West Side Story_ sheet music lay on the music stand; someone had left their bag under a chair.

Blaine zeroed in on the bag. There were hundreds of that exact bag, but Blaine knew this one. He knew the way the strap had frayed a little two inches up from the fastening and the way red thread had caught and stuck the side zip. While his mind still processed the details of that bag, the most beautiful, welcomed voice in the world called down the hallway beyond the open door.

"I forgot my bag in the choir room. Save me a seat."

Blaine spun again towards the door with his heart thudding wildly in his chest. The off-kilter world he had been living in for months righted itself the moment Kurt appeared in the empty doorframe. Blaine felt the seesaw finally tilt and the weight of gravity anchoring him to solid ground came with welcome relief.

Kurt looked back down the hall at someone with a slight smile pulling up the corners of his mouth, and something about the girl who called back put a light in Kurt's blue-green eyes. Blaine had a moment of unnoticed observation. His heart swelled with love, and a happy buzzing in his head blocked out the sounds of slamming lockers, sneakers scuffing on linoleum, and chattering students. He saw only Kurt; Kurt was everything.

Kurt came to a dead stop on the threshold, and their eyes locked for the first time in so many months. Blaine watched the shock and rush of emotions flash across Kurt's face. His mouth parted in surprise, and his chest grew with a sharp intake of breath. The music and lyrics hanging limply from Blaine's left hand spread over the choir room floor.

And then Kurt was in his arms. Blaine closed his eyes and drank in the perfection of this moment. He knew nothing except the warmth of the body between his arms, the musky citrus scent where his nose was buried in the crook of Kurt's neck, the softness of the hair against his temple, and the strength in the fingers twirling the curls at the nape of his neck.

Kurt ducked his head to lay his forehead against Blaine's. Their noses brushed, and the gentle tickle of breath caressed their lips and cheeks. Blaine's eyes were shining wetly, and tears skipped down Kurt's cheeks.

"I love you."

"I love you."

Eyes widened and smiles broadened. Kurt looped his arms around Blaine's neck, and Blaine's tightened around Kurt's waist. Their lips met in a sweet, passionate kiss, and both boys poured their love and longing and happiness into it. Blaine never wanted the kiss to end. He wanted to stand here in the choir room forever and love this boy he was so lucky to have.

Kurt pulled away breathlessly too soon and laid his forehead against Blaine's again, but his arms remained around his boyfriend's neck.

"We shouldn't –"

"No, no. We should. We really should."

Blaine came up onto his toes and pressed his lips against Kurt's. Either the desperation for one more kiss or the height difference struck a funny note with Kurt. He smiled widely into the kiss, and Blaine couldn't help but follow. Their lips rested together as they chuckled softly and held each other close.

"I'm going to skip the rest of the day," Kurt said at last. "Can we go back to my house and talk?"

"Yeah. But I'm going to kiss you more too."

"I would be devastated if you didn't."

Blaine gathered up the papers he'd dropped while Kurt sent a text message to Finn saying he was skipping the rest of the day, that he would be in his room, and that he was not to be disturbed for any reason short of a house fire. Also, Finn was to pass that on to his mom and Burt when they got home from work. Kurt would not have his reunion with Blaine interrupted and cut short for anything.

With that done, Kurt bent to pick up a few errant papers by the risers. He peered down curiously at the staff paper. There was no song title or lyrics, and the notes had been penciled in with annotations in Blaine's handwriting. He picked up four more sheets of paper, all the same as the first, but one had been titled: _The Greatest Day in May_.

"Did you write this?" Kurt asked.

"Um … yeah. After you left, I realized that I had a lot of emotions to sort out, so I gave songwriting a try. I don't think they're very good yet, but I've gotten a little better. That one is a _really_ early draft."

"This song, it's a duet about the perfect flowers for May Day."

Blaine's cheeks flushed pale pink, and he murmured, "For a tenor and countertenor."

Kurt pushed the music into Blaine's arms and scrambled up the risers to his bag. He flipped through what looked like a script, and presented a page for Blaine to read.

_SCENE THREE._

_(The flower shop. CONNOR and LIAM are getting ready for the May Day party in Hooverville.)_

"I _knew_ I was writing for a libretto," Blaine said.

"I wrote this," Kurt said. "And I _knew_ there was music for it."

They shared a long, searching look. They didn't need to say it to know what it meant. It was yet another display of their near magical connection that even across worlds they complemented one another.

Kurt took Blaine's free hand, the one that had been broken the last time they had seen each other. Kurt turned over his boyfriend's hand and ran his fingers down the healed digits. A shiver raced up Blaine's spine.

"How is your shoulder?"

"I'm still in physical therapy, and it's pretty much always sore, but it doesn't hurt too badly anymore. I can't play violin, but I've replaced it with a much, much sexier instrument," he said playfully.

A blush tainted Kurt's cheeks, and he followed Blaine's line of sight to a beautiful light wood acoustic guitar. Kurt had never considered guitars sensual before, but thinking about Blaine's fingers on the strings caused heat to stir in his lower stomach.

"Oh, my. Well, we should take that with us," he said, his voice embarrassingly high-pitched.

Kurt took the sheet music and notebook so Blaine could carry the guitar. He knew how protective musicians could be about their instruments. The teachers didn't notice two students slipping out to the parking lot during lunch hour, although a car leaving the closed campus probably drew a few double takes.

On the ten minute drive from McKinley to Kurt's house, he never let go of Blaine's hand. To release his boyfriend, even for a second, was too much to ask. Blaine made it clear he had no intention of letting go either by twining his fingers with Kurt's. They spent the ride mainly in silence and stealing glances, which continued until they reached Kurt's room.

"So … what do you think?"

Blaine didn't give a superficial answer. He knew how seriously Kurt took interior design from the way he'd accented the plain walls of his bedroom in Here and rearranged the furniture in the common room. He strolled around Kurt's basement bedroom, examining the vanity and closet and accents as much to give an answer as to revel in being completely surrounded by Kurt.

Kurt put his iPod on shuffle while Blaine wandered around his bedroom, but he stole nervous glances, both to keep his boyfriend in sight and because he worried Blaine wouldn't like his room. It was so different from the 1930's style of his bedroom in Here.

"I love it. I love you."

"Perfect answer."

Their arms intertwined and drew their bodies closer together. They swayed in the embrace, their knees and feet tangling occasionally, and one or the other would right their balance.

"I have so much to say to you," Kurt murmured into Blaine's ear. "I don't know how to start or how I'll ever be able to say everything I've thought for the past three months."

"How about we start with 'I missed you.'? That doesn't quite cover it, though."

"Neither does 'I'm happy you're home.'"

"Then let's not talk at all."

Blaine spun Kurt around and walked him backwards towards the bed. They kicked off their shoes and scooted up the bed to lay face-to-face with knees touching and faces close together on the pillows. Fingers traced the contours of faces, ears, shoulders, arms, chests. Lips caressed necks, jaws, cheeks, eyelids. Finally, their lips met again in an array of kisses: chaste, sweet, possessive, steamy. They reacquainted themselves with every kiss they'd ever shared until their lips were gloriously swollen and wonderfully sore.

They had lain like this so many times together, and being together again felt so right, so overwhelming. They lay caught up in the fascination of exploring each other again for hours with the quiet soundtrack of Kurt's favorite songs in the background.

Finn's arrival home from school shocked Kurt into reality. He stifled his laughter against Blaine's chest, and Blaine gazed down at the top of his boyfriend's head lovingly. He took the rare opportunity to run his hands through Kurt's silky hair. He didn't object. He'd twisted and pulled Blaine's curls into a mess already.

"It's three o'clock," Kurt spoke into Blaine's chest.

Blaine craned his neck to peer at the clock on the bedside table. Kurt was right. It had been nearly ten at night when he'd left Here, which put his internal clock at 2am. Now that he knew the time, weariness sent his eyelids fluttering.

"Was it nighttime when you left?" Kurt guessed. "I left in the morning, but arrived in New York in the evening. It took me days to get back on a regular sleep schedule."

"New York?" Blaine yawned.

"Why don't you take a nap? I'll explain everything when you wake up." Blaine shook his head against the pillow. "Yes. You need to sleep. We have so much to talk about, and you need to be rested."

"Take a nap with me. Then we can stay up all night talking … or not talking. I've missed not talking to you."

"All right. But I have to get supplies and parent-proof my room first. I don't want anyone barging in and interrupting us."

"I assume by supplies you mean food? And the interruption being our talk?"

A fierce blush ignited Kurt's face. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked away from Blaine. His boyfriend's hands trailing down his sides wasn't helping to clear his head.

Blaine tried to follow Kurt up the stairs, but Kurt knew that if Finn knew his boyfriend was downstairs, then so would his dad and Carole. Whether or not his dad allowed Kurt's boyfriend to stay in his room – and Kurt was sure that would be a resounding 'no' – was beside the point. They were both together again for the first time in months, and nothing was going to get in the way of that.

Blaine was still struggling to stay awake when Kurt came back downstairs. He'd managed to successfully avoid Finn and locked his bedroom door on the way downstairs.

"Thank god for Finn's attic bedroom," Kurt said.

He dumped the stash of healthy snacks into his mini-fridge where he kept bottled water and climbed back into bed with Blaine. He'd shuffled under the covers while Kurt was upstairs, and tucked the blankets over Kurt now.

"Your family …. Do they not know about me?" Blaine asked worriedly.

"Of course they do. You're all I've talked about for months, and they'll love you … when I introduce you to them tomorrow morning."

"But –"

"You've lived without direct adult supervision for awhile, Blaine. Just trust me that I'm doing what's best for us."

"I trust you."

It took Blaine little time to fall asleep with Kurt next to him. When he woke up three hours later with a body curled around him and hot, steady breath on the back of his neck, he wondered at how vivid his dreams had become. But when he opened his eyes, he was lying in a foreign yet familiar room, and when he twisted beneath the arm draped over his waist, he found Kurt next to him.

Kurt woke to the feel of feather-light kisses along his jaw and wild curls tickling his cheeks. He hummed contentedly and stretched muscles cramped from sleeping in the same position.

"Sorry I woke you," Blaine's sleep-roughed voice whispered.

Kurt started awake. "Oh. For a minute I thought it was a dream."

"Me too. I've gotten so used to waking up to your cologne around me, I thought I was back in Here for a minute."

"Oh, God. Tell me you didn't spray my Tom Ford cologne on your pillowcases," Kurt teased.

"No! Actually, I … I moved into your room."

Now that he said it out loud, it sounded melodramatic and a little creepy. Kurt, however, didn't laugh or recoil. He cupped Blaine's cheek in his palm and dropped a light kiss onto his lips.

"I had a really hard time without you too."

"We should talk about it. Really talk, I mean."

Kurt agreed. They made up the bed together and took turns freshening up from their nap in the half bathroom downstairs. Kurt rustled up a pair of sweat pants and long-sleeve t-shirt for Blaine from the very bottom of his dresser. He secretly called it his Drawer of Shame and only wore the baggy, unflattering clothes for tasks like spring cleaning, painting, and late nights alone when he felt sorry for himself.

They moved to the sofa to eat the vegetables and hummus and turkey sandwiches Kurt had brought down earlier. When the remnants of the meal had been swept into the trash can, they settled in for what they knew would be a very long talk.

"Do you want to go first?" Kurt asked.

Blaine summarized the past three months in Here without Kurt. He shared everything from his outbursts of anger to Cillian's sobering talk. Recounting the path home exhausted him almost as much as the work itself. He shared his songwriting genesis and his realization that he couldn't come home until he stopped running from his problems.

"I'll always be a performer, but I'm more than that. I'm a songwriter, and I'm meant to share my emotions with others through music. I thought standing up for myself would be the hardest part. But, in the end, it was being comfortable enough with myself to show the world that I'm not the perfect, controlled, confident kid I've always pretended to be."

"I am so proud of you, Blaine. Everything you've done …. You put so much into coming home to me."

As soon as the words left Kurt's mouth, he began second guessing himself. Blaine caught the doubt on his face and rushed to assure him.

"It was for you. I know how obsessive and co-dependent that sounds, but –"

"Not to me. Not everyone will understand it, but the things we've been through together, they've forged a bond between us that most people will never feel. And I think … I think we're …"

"What?"

Kurt took a deep breath. "Soul mates."

He cringed at the cheesy phrase, but Blaine only gazed back at him curiously with his head cocked to one side.

"I thought we cleared that up in the choir room when we figured out we'd written the libretto and score to the same musical without ever talking about it before? I wouldn't have crossed barriers between worlds for anything less."

"There's even more to it than that, Blaine. Do you remember what I told you I was doing right before I arrived in Here?"

"You were going to spy on a rival show choir," Blaine said with a laugh.

"Exactly. I was going to spy on the Warblers from Dalton Academy. It's a very exclusive, pricey private prep school for boys. There's an amazing no bullying policy that's strictly enforced, and its arts programs are top rated in the state. The head of the music department at Dalton is a man by the name of George Anderson."

"N-no. My parents live in Edmonton. In Canada."

"I saw his faculty page on the Dalton website. There's a picture. It's your dad, Blaine."

"So my parents moved to Ohio? My parents are _here_?"

Kurt wanted to point out the series of logical steps that led to their inevitable meeting, but Blaine was a smart boy and would piece that together when his brain caught up to the concept of having parents after so long without them.

"How did you even find out?"

"To explain that properly, I'll have to start at the beginning."

Kurt went back to the day he returned in New York and Rachel led him to the psychiatric hospital. Blaine gasped at the Briony reveal and listened raptly as Kurt talked about their trip to Ireland.

A knocking on the basement door interrupted Kurt's storytelling, and he swore under his breath. When he didn't answer soon enough, Burt called through the locked door.

"Kurt? You okay down there? Finn said you weren't feeling well."

"I'm fine, Dad. Just not up for a lot of company tonight."

After a prolonged silence, Kurt's dad spoke again. "If you're sure …. Have you taken your pills today?"

Blaine's brow furrowed, because Kurt hadn't said anything about medication. The countertenor looked away quickly and shouted back at his dad that, yes, he had taken the pills even as he climbed off the sofa and went over to his vanity. He made a point of keeping his back to Blaine while he fished out a pill and retrieved a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.

"Kurt?"

"It's nothing, Blaine. I'm fine."

"You're scaring me, Kurt. Why wouldn't you tell me that you're sick? What's wrong?"

Kurt shrieked in protest when he saw Blaine picking up the pill bottle from his vanity. He hadn't even realized Blaine had left the sofa, and now he couldn't get across his room fast enough. Blaine turned the bottle around and read the label. Anyone who had watched television commercials in the last ten years knew the brand name and what it was used for.

"Oh, _Kurt_."

Kurt dropped his chin onto his chest as Blaine came nearer.

"I told you, it was really difficult without you. I felt so alone, and no one completely understood, and I'd already grieved so much." The tears came hot and fast. "I tried to be strong, but …."

Blaine pulled Kurt into an embrace and whispered comforting sounds into his ear and petted his hair. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Kurt. Do you really think I'd judge you after what you know about Dagny?"

Speaking his friends' name put a lump in Blaine's throat. It was the first time today he'd realized he might not see her again for a long time and would not ever see Nick and Hana again. Kurt sensed it in the stiffness of Blaine's posture. He drew back and quickly dried his eyes with a Kleenex.

"We're not making this about me right now," he declared. "Let's sit down. There are some parts I left out of my story. I promised myself I would be fit to help you adjust when you came home, and despite the present puffy eyes, I am."

"Kurt, you don't –"

"You sat vigil at my bedside. You skipped more days of school than I can count. You took care of me when I needed you, Blaine. Please let me do the same."

Blaine nodded once and let himself be led back to the sofa, and he listened as Kurt reversed through his story. This time, Blaine knew he heard the full tale, both good and bad. The return would not be as painless as he'd imagined it, but he had Kurt's arm wrapped around his and his head on Kurt's shoulder, and he never needed anything more than that.


	64. Forty Eight

**FORTY-EIGHT**

"How do I look? I look ridiculous, don't I?"

Kurt set down his crème on the vanity and drifted over to the full length mirror where Blaine worried over his appearance. He had gone overboard on the hair gel and slicked his curls back, and why he felt the need to roll up the legs of the pants he borrowed from Kurt's closet and turn them into high waters Kurt would never understand.

He slid his arms around Blaine's waist and rested his chin on Blaine's shoulder. His boyfriend leaned back into the contact and relaxed against him.

"You are fabulous, Blaine. My family is going to love you."

"I'm not as fabulous as you."

"Yes, but I'm lady fabulous."

"Oh? And I'm not?"

"No, you're fabulous in a very slightly more butch way."

Blaine laughed and turned his head. He caught Kurt's lips in a kiss. Blaine twisted around inside Kurt's arms, and they lingered in front of the mirror kissing and putting off the inevitable parental meet and greet about to take place.

"We should go upstairs before everyone leaves," Kurt said at last.

After a final check in the mirror, the boys headed upstairs and towards the smell of waffles and hot maple syrup coming from the kitchen. Finn stood over the waffle iron, pouring batter and stacking up a tower of waffles. Burt and Carole sat at the kitchen table eating oatmeal and grapefruit.

"Hey, kid. You feeling better?" Burt asked.

He barely glanced up from his breakfast and the newspaper until Carole nudged his elbow. Finn and Carole both stared wide-eyed at the boy standing nervously beside Kurt. Burt did a double take.

"Dad, Carole, Finn … this is Blaine, my boyfriend."

Blaine held out his hand to Burt. "Hi. It's very nice to finally meet you, Mr. Hummel. Kurt has told me so many great things about you. It's truly an honor."

"Blaine. From Here?" Burt clarified.

"Yes, sir. I came home yesterday. It was … magical. I showed up in the McKinley choir room just before Kurt walked in. I guess we arrive exactly where we're meant to be, and well, I came to Kurt."

Blaine had looked away from Burt to gaze lovingly at his boyfriend, who flushed bright red and couldn't fight off the toothy grin stretching so widely across his face that his cheeks ached.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Blaine, and to have you home at last," Carole gushed.

She got up from her seat and gave Blaine a hug. Finn waved dumbly from the counter island where he was burning his eighth waffle.

"So Blaine got home yesterday," Burt said. "And I didn't hear a car pull into the driveway or the front door open, so …"

"Blaine stayed the night," Kurt said.

"I hope that's not a problem, Mr. Hummel," Blaine interjected. "Kurt and I lived together for seven months in Here –"

"– along with two other guys," Kurt added.

" – and shared a bedroom for the last month –"

"– because we were both injured," Kurt said, with a note of panic in his voice.

"– that we lived together. I understand that our guardians in Here might have had different rules than you do, Mr. Hummel. I have so much respect for your son, and I wouldn't want you to think that's not the case. I would never intentionally put Kurt in a position where he had to violate the rules of your house."

Burt sat back in his chair and gazed at Blaine like he was a brand new species, and Kurt supposed he kind of was: the boyfriend. At last, Burt motioned to an empty chair at the kitchen table.

"Have a seat. Finn is making waffles or we have some oatmeal. It's not too bad if you put in apple slices and use a little cinnamon."

"Wow. I haven't had oatmeal in _years_."

Kurt slid into his usual place at the table, still side-eyeing his dad nervously. Blaine had thankfully taken his speech in a different direction than Kurt expected. He would have died of shame to relive the "safe sex" speech, especially between his boyfriend and father.

"Kurt. I'm a pretty reasonable guy," Burt said. "I would have made an exception to the rules for the very special circumstance of your boyfriend coming home from another world. Blaine, you're always welcomed in my house, and if you want to stay the night, the couch is all yours."

Kurt wanted to protest, and tried to, but Blaine cut him off with a polite response.

"Thank you, Mr. Hummel. That's very kind and very understanding. Of course, I'll stay on the couch if I ever sleep over again. I have plans to go see my parents today, so I don't think I will be staying again tonight."

Breakfast went smoothly after that with Kurt's family asking Blaine questions about himself and Here and his plans now that he was home. Burt didn't say much, but Kurt noticed an odd expression on his face every time Blaine talked about the future. It took him awhile to figure out what struck his dad as so strange.

He was so accustomed to Blaine's interests complementing his so perfectly that he forgot most teenage couples parted ways after high school to pursue their individual dreams. But Kurt and Blaine had the same dreams, and they never intended to be apart from each other again.

Kurt wrapped his arm around Blaine's elbow, and in the middle of answering Finn's question about why Canadians liked hockey more than football, Blaine paused to send him a loving glance.

**o o o**

An ashen-faced Blaine sat on the end of Kurt's bed with his chin propped on his fists while Kurt rubbed his back gently. It was one thing to say he was going to visit his parents; it was another entirely to actually knock on their door after four years of being gone.

"Should I call first? I should probably call first," Blaine worried. "But wouldn't that freak them out even more? What if they don't recognize my voice and think it's a joke?"

"They are going to be thrilled to see you again, Blaine. That's all that matters."

"I don't know if I can do this. I feel so guilty. I basically willed myself to leave and then gave up ever trying to come home."

"You can. You just need to find your confidence. Why don't we sing something? You're never more confident than when you're singing. I haven't heard you play guitar yet."

Blaine cringed. "Playing an instrument I still don't feel proficient at isn't going to improve my confidence_. And neither is you looking at my music!_"

Blaine leapt off the bed to keep Kurt from reaching the stack of sheet music, but he was too late; Kurt already had the lyrics notebook in hand and flipped through it. Blaine snatched at it, but Kurt held it high over his head.

"Okay. Really?" Blaine grumbled.

The motion shook out the pages of the notebook, and three envelopes fluttered out of the back pages. The sharp corner of one caught Kurt on the cheek, and the other two bounced off his shoulders. Forgetting about the notebook, Blaine bent and retrieved one of the envelopes with his name written in Nick's bold handwriting on the cover. Kurt gathered up the other two, one addressed to Jeff and the other to himself.

"Why is there a letter for Jeff?" Kurt asked.

"Hmm? Oh. He came home a couple weeks ago."

Blaine missed Kurt's indignant cry he was so engrossed in the envelope bearing his name. Neither did he realize he'd left out that bit of information before when he'd told Kurt about his journey home. He took a deep breath before tearing off the end of the envelope and shaking out three pieces of notebook paper.

"Do you want me to …?"

"No. Unless you want to read your letters alone."

Kurt shook his head, and they gravitated over towards the couch. Kurt set Jeff's envelope on the coffee table with his name pointing to the ceiling. They would have to decide what to do with it later. For now, they couldn't think about more than reading the messages sent across the barrier from their friends.

With a reassuring glance at each other, they unfolded the first letter and read in silence.

_Blaine,_

_We couldn't come up with a foolproof plan to say good-bye to you, but we couldn't stand the thought of losing you without ever saying how much you mean to us. I guess we could say it now, but you and Nick are guys, and he informs Hana and I that guys don't talk about their feelings that way. So we're writing you letters and putting them in your lyrics journal because we figure that your music is your ticket home, and if anything goes with you, that will be it._

_Oh, Blainers, I am going to miss you so much. You were my first and best friend in Here. You're like the little brother I never ever wanted, but I'm so glad to have you anyway. You accepted things about me that even I haven't yet._

_I fully intend to come home myself in the near future, so this isn't good-bye forever. Instead of a long, tear-splotched letter, I'll just say that while we're apart I want you to rely on Kurt and Jeff as much as we have relied on each other in Here. Take care of each other. Be happy, be safe, be family._

_I'll see you soon._

_With love,_

_Dagny_

When Blaine looked up, Kurt was drying his eyes and folding up a letter in Dagny's handwriting. He didn't ask Kurt to share. He could imagine what the note said: take care of Blaine, you've changed our world for the better, I'll see you soon. _Be happy, be safe, be family_.

They repeated the process twice more, reading farewells from their friends. Nick and Hana's letters brought tears to Blaine's eyes. Neither Nick nor Hana talked about their feelings often; they preferred to discuss the world in terms of thoughts and opinions. They did not gush in their letters, and Blaine didn't expect them to. But they did say good-bye in their own ways, and these good-byes were forever.

The words on these pages were the last he would ever hear from two friends who had been as close as family. He knew he would read these words again and again for the rest of his life, so he folded the letters carefully and slipped them back into the envelope that would yellow with age and weaken at the folds from the number of times he came back to the letters.

Kurt's hand on his forearm startled Blaine back into the moment. He accepted the Kleenex Kurt held out for him and dried his eyes. They said nothing for a long time, just leaned into each other and stared at their names in bold, black ink on the crisp, white paper.

"I feel like I have some closure," Kurt said at last. "Reading these letters would have made everything so much easier when I came back."

"I don't know how to feel yet."

"That's okay. This is a very difficult transition, and you're going to feel a lot of things you didn't expect. When you do know how you feel, will you talk to me? I want to help you as much as I can, Blaine."

He nodded. "I will always talk to you, Kurt."

"Good."

They lapsed into silence for a few more minutes, and then Blaine took up Jeff's envelope from the coffee table.

"We have to send this to Jeff. Can you find his address?"

"I can," Kurt said uneasily. "But, Blaine, Jeff hasn't gotten in touch with me for a reason. He might not have even gone home. We can't just mail something to his family's house if he hasn't shown up there yet. That would be cruel."

"This is Jeff we're talking about, Kurt. He wanted to go home to this family more than anything else."

"So did I, and I spent the first three weeks being home completely isolated from my family. I didn't want anything to do with my friends either. I'm just not sure intruding on his life right now is the best idea."

"You said these letters gave you closure," Blaine argued. "Doesn't Jeff deserve closure too?"

Kurt agreed reluctantly. He retrieved his laptop from the desk and logged onto the people-finder site he and Briony had used to track down Cillian's family, and another one she was using to try and locate Declan's family.

"Have you heard from anyone else?" Blaine asked. "Camille came home right after you did, and Luigi too. I don't know anyone else personally, but they're all out there somewhere. We should find them to let them know that they're not alone."

Kurt grinned affectionately at his boyfriend. "I love you." Blaine rolled his eyes playfully. "No, I'm serious. You're so thoughtful and kind. I'm so proud to be with you."

"I'm just building on your idea. _I'm_ proud to be with _you_."

"Is this going to be our thing? Not 'I love you more' but 'I'm prouder of you'?"

"But I love you more too."

Kurt pulled a face, and a happy Blaine kissed him around a smile.

"I'm going to look for Jeff now, okay?"

The address for Alice Sterling in Dunedin, New Zealand popped up immediately. Blaine jotted down the address, but Kurt knew from past experience that more searching was required. He went to the Dunedin newspaper's website and typed in Jeff's name. Like Kurt's reappearance, Jeff's return home had been extensively covered by the local newspaper. Unlike Kurt's unfortunate cover story that mental illness was behind his disappearance, Jeff had adopted another explanation.

"He said he ran away?" Blaine read over Kurt's shoulder. "Oh my God. Kurt, am I going to have to say the same thing? That will kill my parents. I can't do that to them."

"No, Blaine." Kurt rubbed his boyfriend's shoulders and pulled him into a one-armed embrace. "We'll tell your parents the truth. But as for what you tell the rest of the world, yes, it will have to be a cover story. Look on the bright side. Whatever it is can't be worse than mine."

Blaine didn't want to think about cover stories right now.

"What do you want to do about Jeff? We know he lives with his family now. We could try calling. It's … uh, oh, two in the morning in New Zealand. We should probably wait if we're going to call. Or we could send the letters and wait for him to get in touch with us."

Kurt tapped his chin thoughtfully, and then began typing on the laptop again. Blaine watched as a program he'd never heard of started up on the screen. He didn't follow everything Kurt was doing, but he figured that something good had happened when Kurt turned to him and asked:

"Do you want to talk to Jeff?"

"Huh?"

"He's still awake."

"How can you possibly know that?"

Kurt pointed at the screen, but Blaine had no idea how to interpret it. Kurt gave a little sigh of impatience that prompted Blaine to nod his head. Kurt clicked something, and next moment Jeff's face popped up on the screen.

"KURT! _BLAINE?_" Jeff cried. He gave a whoop of joy. "I knew you'd come home too, mate."

Blaine had never been the best with computers, and technology had obviously changed in dramatic ways in the last four years, but he caught on quickly that this Skype thing was a videoconferencing program and Kurt and Jeff used it all the time.

"You could have let me know you're home," Kurt pointed out.

"I would have soon. I've been a little busy settling in with my family again."

Even though it had only been a few weeks since Jeff had left Here, Blaine felt like they'd been apart for years. Seeing one of his close friends again made everything seem a little less daunting for Blaine. Their conversation fell into an easy pattern without the need for any grand 'welcome home' platitudes. They were old friends, and it went without saying that they had missed each other and were happy to see each other again.

"I'm going to see my family later today," Blaine said. "I'm pretty nervous about it."

Jeff's slightly pixelated image nodded on screen. "I was too. I didn't know what to tell them about where I'd been, but they all seemed to think I'd run away. That stung, but I went with it. Mum and the girls don't care. They're just happy I'm back."

"We can tell them the truth," Kurt said. He explained about Briony and tracking down Cillian's family. "We'll come to New Zealand and talk to your family."

"Dagny's sister? That's way too much like fate for my taste," Jeff declared. "But I'd love to tell them the truth, especially Johnny."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged a look and wordlessly decided not to share their own fateful meeting. The depth of their bond was a private thing all the more special because only they understood it completely.

"I'll talk to Briony about booking plane tickets," Kurt promised. "When we come, we have something to give you."

Blaine nodded approvingly. Handing Jeff the letters in person felt like the right way to do it.

"Brilliant! You're both coming, right?"

"Absolutely," Blaine said. "I wouldn't miss a chance to see Middle-earth!"

"I feel so important," Jeff drawled, with a knowing smile.

When Kurt signed off Skype, he closed the laptop and set it on the coffee table. Blaine reclined against the couch and considered their conversation.

"He seems happy, but I think it's a front. You know Jeff. He doesn't want anyone to go out of their way to help him. I think he's having the same kind of trouble you did."

"I caught that too. 'Especially Johnny,' he said. Hopefully, we can get through to his brother the way Briony did my dad and their relationship can get better. I can't imagine being apart from a twin brother for years, and then having to lie and say I'd run away from him."

"Jeff has this amazing kind of unassuming strength. I've known him for years, but I always forget it's there until he does something that shocks me into remembering that he's more than what he seems on the outside."

"That's a pretty good description of someone else I know."

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Tell you? No. Hint? Yes."

"That we should go see my parents? It's the middle of a school day, Kurt. My dad won't even be home. We should just wait until tonight."

"There's a reason Finn was still making waffles at nine in the morning, Blaine," Kurt said gently. "It's Saturday."

"What? No! I left on a Wednesday."

"Then the clock flipped forward more than we thought. Today is definitely Saturday."

Blaine took a shaky breath, and Kurt watched with concern as panic, doubt, and fear flashed over his face. At last, after more silent deliberation than Kurt liked to see, Blaine nodded once.

"All right. You're coming to talk to them with me, right?"

Kurt hesitated. He had intended to drive Blaine to the address he'd found, but not meet his parents. The first conversation back was difficult enough without also coming out and introducing a boyfriend. But even before they'd been boyfriends, they had been best friends. Friendship didn't end when it turned romantic.

"Of course."

"Then …. Okay. I'm ready. Let's go see my parents."


	65. Interlude: Departure

**INTERLUDE**

The Faradays passed a tureen of broccoli and a bread basket around the dinner table. The little four-top table hardly fit in their tiny dining room off the kitchen, but Briony and Dagny were so young still they could be wedged into the tiny sliver between wall and table without issue. Tonight, the girls chattered about the upcoming talent show at school.

"I'm going to dance like a crazy duck!" six-year-old Dagny proclaimed.

She lifted her arms in triumph, sending spaghetti sliding down her bare arms. Briony burst into fits of giggles while their dad wiped away the food, leaving a greasy stain of sauce behind that their mom cleaned with a wet wash rag from the kitchen sink.

"And this is why we don't have spaghetti night often," Allison Faraday said good-naturedly.

"What about you, Briony? What are you doing for the talent show?" Josiah Faraday asked.

"You're dancing with me," Dagny announced brightly. "We're sisters and best friends and we have to do everything together for the whole rest of our lives!"

Eight-year-old Briony blinked at her little sister, considering if she liked this idea or not. Then she shouted, "I'm dancing like a crazy duck too!"

Young Dagny paused in the middle of her reminiscence and glanced around. She heard a voice counting backwards, and then suddenly, she started awake in Dr. Chen's office. The psychologist leaned forward in his chair, quizzical concern on his face as Dagny oriented herself.

"Are you all right?"

The young woman nodded vaguely. During the hypnosis, she had slipped down further into her seat, perhaps because she used to slouch as a child. It drew her parents' attention away from Briony when she intentionally wrecked the posture Mademoiselle drilled into the young ballerinas. She pushed herself up the couch, nodding.

"Y-Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

She picked up her glasses from the end table and slipped them on. As the world came into sharp focus, she realized the blurriness of a moment ago hadn't registered at all. Putting on her glasses was an automatic response from fifteen years of waking up. Without warning, she burst into hysterical tears that sent Dr. Chen flying out of his chair to offer her Kleenex. She sobbed harder, which seemed like a perfectly natural reaction to disturbing a psychologist.

"Dagny?"

"This is so pointless!" Dagny cried, throwing up her hands. "We've been at this for two years, Dr. Chen. Two years! People who didn't even live in the same town as Kurt have figured out how to copy him and go home. He's one of my best friends! God, I am so pathetic!"

Dr. Chen left the Kleenex box beside Dagny while he retreated to his chair. He knew she got even more upset when she felt babied by him. Dagny wastefully ripped three Kleenex out of the box, but immediately felt guilty about it.

"S-Sorry. These are the kind with lotion in them too, aren't they?"

The doctor refused to be led off subject. "Dagny, I want you to take a few minutes to compose yourself, okay? Do your breathing exercises, and then we'll continue."

The young woman nodded and sucked in a deep breath through her nose. They had come up with this system of breathing, the kind yoga instructors taught, a year and a half ago. Dagny loved Hana and Nick, but she had always been closest to Blaine and Jeff. Six months without them had driven her to the edge of a dangerous precipice. Dr. Chen had very nearly institutionalized her again. It was Hana, of all people, who knocked her back on track.

_"This is why I don't think anyone should go home. Everyone was just fine here, but now there is loss and grief on both sides of the barrier. Nowhere is safe anymore."_

Dagny exhaled deeply for the final time and felt her emotions settle into some semblance of order she could discuss with Dr. Chen. The memory of Hana's words reminded her of all the people waiting for her back home. She had hurt her family when she left, there was no denying it. But if she never returned, she would hurt Blaine, Jeff, and Kurt for years to come while they waited and hoped and had those hopes dashed, and that could be avoided.

"What upset you so badly?" Dr. Chen asked.

"My bad eyesight." The doctor frowned deeply. "No, seriously. We've been doing all these kinds of therapies to help me sort out what are my real memories from home and what I made up in my psychotic state in Here. But how can I even judge what's real and what's was part of my make believe world? Sometimes I think it's useless, and I'll never get home."

Dr. Chen wrote something in the notebook across his lap, and then, to Dagny's surprise, closed the folder and set it off to the side.

"Tell me again," he instructed.

Dagny recited by rote what they had discussed in their first session two years ago. "In order to get home, I must be able to remember the place and the people I want to return to. I must accept that some of my memories are false and recover the real memories I have repressed."

"What did we leave out of that mission statement? You knew Kurt better than me. Consider his instructions to Blaine and compare it to what you've been doing."

Dagny rambled for ten minutes about Kurt. " … and then he started to believe he could go home, and … well, the rest is literally history."

"Say it again."

Dagny furrowed her brow, trying to work out what her psychologist wanted to hear. Realization formed a perfect O on her lips.

"He believed he could go home," she breathed. "God, I am such an idiot."

"No, Dagny. So many people have come to me for help going home …"

But Dagny wasn't listening anymore. She felt it, what Blaine had described to her two years ago: unsettled, floating between two worlds, about to go home.


	66. Forty Nine

**FORTY-NINE**

Kurt pulled up next to the curb outside a handsome two-story brick house in one of the many subdivisions around Lima. The bronze numbers beside the front door read 1022, and the name on the mailbox said Anderson. Two large oak trees with turning yellow foliage grew in the yard and reached branchy arms over the roof. Kurt turned off the ignition and squeezed Blaine's hand reassuringly.

"I'll be right there with you. Unless you've changed your mind and want to do it alone, in which case I brought a book."

"I want you there, Kurt."

"Then I'll be there."

When it became clear Blaine wasn't going to make the first move, Kurt climbed out of the car and came around the hood. He held the door open for Blaine and held out his hand. They walked up the front steps together hand-in-hand. Kurt ignored the sweat on Blaine's palm and worried instead about the reason behind the nerves.

Blaine had gone white as a sheet and wore the tight-lipped look he thought closed off his emotions from others, always forgetting how expressive his eyes were. More than once on the drive over, Blaine had emphasized that he'd been gone four years and who knew what his schoolmates had told his parents about him. Kurt wondered again if this wasn't too much pressure him being here, but Blaine's grip on his fingers had turned almost painful.

"I want you to be here, Kurt. But you don't have to be," Blaine said, turning plaintive eyes on Kurt.

"I'll be wherever you need me," Kurt assured his boyfriend.

Another minute passed before Blaine pressed his finger to the doorbell. They waited nervously for thirty seconds while the chimes faded into the sound of feet approaching the door. Kurt lost feeling in his fingers Blaine clung to him so tightly.

Mrs. Anderson saw Kurt first, him being on the right, and smiled curiously at him through the glass outer door, and then her eyes landed on her teenage son. Three heart beats passed with glass between mother and son, and then Blaine found himself wrapped in arms he thought he'd never feel again. He didn't know when the glass door had been opened or when Kurt's fingers had slipped out of his sweaty palm, but he was caught up in his mom's embrace with his hands on her back and tears staining their cheeks.

"George!" Mary shouted over her shoulder. "George! Blaine is home!"

"Mary, what are you …"

And then his dad was there too, and the Andersons were hugging and crying and speaking in short, abrupt, incoherent sentences about missing each other and loving each other and being together again all mixed together.

Kurt retreated backwards from the reunion. He loved Blaine much too much to feel like an outsider seeing him so adored by his parents, but he didn't want his presence to distract George and Mary Anderson from lavishing as much affection on their son as they wanted. He felt happy tears pooling in his own eyes. All the times he'd talked to Blaine about how much his dad loved him, and Blaine had never realized he had that too. He wondered if the love and pride he saw on the Andersons' faces when they looked at Blaine was new or if a prepubescent Blaine had only mistaken it for something else.

As much as he tried to blend in with the turning autumn colors, his palette was decidedly primary today. Eventually, Mr. Anderson did notice him standing six paces back, but Mrs. Anderson still held too much of Blaine's attention for a proper introduction. Kurt strode forward and held out his hand. If Blaine could charm Burt Hummel, then surely Kurt should try to do the same with George Anderson.

"Hello, Mr. Anderson. My name is Kurt Hummel. Blaine and I have been friends almost a year now. He asked me to bring him home."

Kurt watched something like recognition flash in Mr. Anderson's eyes, and he wondered what was behind it. Had he seen Kurt's face on the news; or had the Warblers' music teacher been contacted as part of the investigation; or did he realize Kurt was more than friends with his son?

"Any friend of Blaine's is welcome in our home," George said, shaking Kurt's hand firmly. "Will you come inside with us?"

The Andersons wrestled with the need to revolve around their prodigal son and still be polite to Kurt. He solved their crisis by taking a seat in the armchair, thus leaving Blaine to be flanked by his parents on the couch. His mom couldn't stop touching him. She stroked his cheeks and petted his hair and hugged him constantly. His dad stayed close, but not enough to smother his son.

Blaine cast an apologetic look at Kurt, but he only smiled widely in return. If Blaine thought Kurt would be upset not being the center of his attention right now, they needed to have a long talk about why Blaine would put up with such a self-centered boyfriend. Blaine smiled back, and Kurt knew he had only been as caring as always.

"Where have you been for four years?"

The question rushed from George's mouth, much as it had from every person who had welcomed Kurt back to Lima. Blaine looked to Kurt for help.

"That's actually one of the reasons why I'm here, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Where we've been is difficult to explain, and from my own personal experience, even harder to believe. I assure you, everything we're about to tell you is true, but if you need a confirming adult, Dr. Briony Faraday from the NYU Medical Center is waiting for my call."

George and Mary exchanged panicked looks every parent must feel when a hospital is mentioned in relation to their child, but there was something darker there in their faces too that Kurt didn't understand. Blaine took a breath and began his story from that day in the locker room after football practice.

When the story was told in full, but missing the few delicate details Kurt had also omitted in his retelling, the Andersons stared between Blaine and Kurt, as if trying to find a way to believe the tale but unable to see any semblance of logic in it.

"Blaine," George said gently, "you can tell us what really happened."

Blaine had been prepared for disbelief. Kurt had warned him that was a very likely outcome, but knowing it and feeling it were two different things. He exhaled deeply and let his shoulders slump forward.

"They're telling the truth," Mary declared. She brushed her thumb along Blaine's cheek tenderly. "A mother can always tell when her baby is lying, and Blaine is not."

Blaine's eyes shot up to his mother's, and his lips twitched into a faint, hopeful smile.

"Mary …"

"Either you believe what Blaine and Kurt have told us, George, or you send us all back to the padded white rooms."

"Back?"

Mary shushed Blaine with a cooing sound and a kiss on his cheek. He was too old to let her get away with these shows of affection, but not heartless enough to stop her just yet.

"Would you like to speak to Dr. Faraday, Mr. Anderson?" Kurt asked, without accusation. "She's a psychiatrist, and she believes us. She'll be able to explain why and answer any concerns you have. Talking to her helped my dad considerably."

"No," George decided. "No, I trust you, Blaine. You've never lied to us before, and I don't think you would have come home if you intended to start now."

They had follow-up questions about Here that Blaine did his best to answer. Kurt chimed in occasionally with supplemental anecdotes, but mostly he let Blaine and his parents reacquaint themselves. Sometimes Blaine would make a comment – about taking a class with a collegiate course title or playing a lead role – that would startle his parents, and they spent long moments just looking at him again and reminding themselves that their baby boy was seventeen now.

At last, the questions died away and the autumn sun began its early descent. Kurt started to think about making his exit and hating that he wouldn't be able to kiss Blaine good-bye in front of his parents. Everything in due time, he told himself, and maybe coming out in the same conversation as explaining the fantastical nature of his disappearance wasn't the best combination.

"Will you stay for dinner, Kurt?" Mr. Anderson asked. "I thought I'd make fettuccini in honor of Slightly's return."

Blaine's cheeks went pink.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, Blaine. I don't know where that even came from."

"It's okay, dad. I'm short. It has its advantages."

Blaine's eyes darted towards Kurt, who felt heat creep into his cheeks and silently cursed Blaine for teasing him right now. His past crushes had all been taller, but he had come to really enjoy Blaine being a few inches shorter. He could loop his arms around Blaine's neck when they kissed, and he liked bending to press his lips against Blaine's. All of this had been conveyed in the eagerness of his kisses, and Blaine was teasing him about it.

"Well, I'm glad you've come to that conclusion. I was beginning to feel guilty," George laughed.

Kurt felt the Andersons' curious gazes; or had they already solved the riddle?

"I would love to stay for dinner," Kurt said.

"Good. I'll get that started."

"Do you have anything to take up to your room, Blaine?" Mary asked. "I'm afraid you've outgrown all your old clothes. We … donated them. We … umm, we also redecorated your room when we moved."

George glanced curiously at his wife, but a sharp look from Mary prompted him not to say whatever had been on the tip of his tongue.

"That's fine, Mom. And, no, I don't have anything. I didn't come back with much, but Kurt's loaned me some of his clothes until I can get some of my own."

Before George put on dinner, they went upstairs to look at Blaine's new bedroom. Kurt approved of the décor. The walls were a handsome hunter green, and the furniture a beautiful deep shade to match the sophisticated, understated style. He spotted several problem points that he would fix the next time he went shopping with Blaine, and he was concerned about the closet space, but they could put up some creative shelving to rectify that.

"Wow," Blaine said, as he looked around. "This is really nothing like my old room."

George and Mary frowned and exchanged worried looks.

"We have some of your things in storage, if you'd rather have it like it used to be. We even kept your favorite Zac Efron poster."

Blaine froze with a deer-in-headlights look caught on his face. Kurt's eyes darted between the Andersons. Mrs. Anderson's face hadn't moved from the fussy, concerned state of worrying about the redecoration and how Blaine liked it. Mr. Anderson wore an expression Kurt had seen only once before, when he'd come out to his dad, and Burt had answered: "I know."

"I've, uh, moved on from Zac Efron," Blaine mumbled.

George's eyes swiveled to Kurt, and a smile popped into the corner of his mouth. "I can see that. Although there is sort of a resemblance."

Blaine's jaw worked without successfully getting any words out. George put his arm around his son's shoulders.

"You know," Blaine finally croaked.

"I've always known. Fathers know these things, and the good ones admit it to themselves and are ready for the day their sons say it – verbally or otherwise. I'm just sorry that I let it go unspoken for so long. I should have brought it up sooner. I could have let you know it's okay to question your sexuality and be whoever you were born. When I heard about your disappearance, I just _knew_ there was something those football players weren't saying. I thought …."

Kurt looked away from the embracing father and son. There was never a moment more beautiful or private today. He found Mary, finally unconcerned with the bedroom, beaming at Kurt.

"I was … I didn't know how you'd react," Blaine said to his dad.

"When you get an idea in your head, Blaine," George said, with an affectionately chiding shake of his head. "I went to school for musical theater; I teach musical theater. I'm perfectly comfortable with gay men." His smile dropped, and he sounded sad now. "But then, we lived where we lived, and you always knew I chose to go back to Edmonton after college."

Blaine looked down at his shoes, confirming everything.

"Just so we're clear," George began, "I love you, and I accept you completely. Kurt, if you're at all unclear, I'll say again that you're welcome here any time."

"Blaine is the oblivious one," Kurt joked. "I'm generally more tuned into the world. I probably would have caught the whiff of acceptance had I ever been told you went to NYADA and taught musical theater."

"Really? This has gone from a joyful reunion to picking on me already?" Blaine teased.

They went back downstairs and sat around the island while George made fettuccini, which Blaine swore was "legendary." Mary still would not leave Blaine's side, but she had graduated from needing to touch him constantly and was content to just have him near.

"So how did you know I went to NYADA?" George asked Kurt.

"It was on your faculty page on the Dalton website. I've done some research, and I even went to one of their mixers with my friend Rachel. I think I'd like to go there for musical theater after I graduate."

George perked up. "You should consider coming to Dalton. Having an alumnus as a teacher will look great on your transcript, and if I'm your teacher, I'll be able to write a letter of recommendation for you. The Warblers will be over-the-moon to have a countertenor. You could skip right over their waiting list, I'm sure of it."

"Thank you, Mr. Anderson."

"George."

"Thank you, George. That's very generous, but I've gone back to school at McKinley, and I'm happy there. New Directions are my friends, and I've left too many friends lately."

"Ah, well. That's understandable." George paused over the cream sauce. He gestured between Kurt and Blaine with the wooden spoon. "New Directions, huh? You realize you two are going to be competitors, right?"

Kurt nodded, but Blaine sat up straighter in his seat and shook his head. "I'm going to McKinley with Kurt."

"What? Blaine, you'll have a private school education at Dalton. There's a no bullying policy that is strictly enforced, and you easily have the best voice of any of the Warblers. You don't really want to go to a public school."

"Your dad is right, Blaine. Dalton is an amazing school," Kurt chimed in. "If it wasn't for my friends at McKinley and the steep tuition, I would want to go there."

Blaine sent him an incredulous look. "I have lived three months without you, and evenings and weekends aren't enough. We're partners, Kurt, in every sense of the word. We're supposed to be together every day. You have friends at McKinley that you can't leave, so I'm coming to McKinley with you."

Kurt held in a breath unconsciously. He wanted to shout from the rooftops how much he loved Blaine Anderson, but he couldn't get his breath back to even whisper it right now he was so lost in Blaine's devotion.


	67. Interlude: Here

**INTERLUDE**

Hana came to stand in front of Nick. Her canary yellow dress matched Pavarotti's feathers where the bird chirped and pranced in his cage over the radiator. An early snowstorm had blown in from the mountains, and they had become well acquainted with how much Pavarotti hated the cold. The flakes swirled in front of the window pane and settled on the sill, accumulating in layers and narrowing the outside view as the hours passed.

Nick finally marked his place in the book and looked up at the girl waiting patiently for his attention. Her dark eyes swam with unshed sadness, and Nick jolted from his place on the sofa. He felt churlish now for making her wait for him to finish the chapter.

"What's wrong, Hana?"

He guided her back onto the couch, and she sat with their sides pressed together and her forehead resting on his shoulder. While her long hair hid her face, he couldn't guess if his presence comforted her or made the tears come at last.

"It's just us now."

Solemnity settled over Nick at the words. In the beginning of the departures, they had often spoken about the day when they would be the last of their friends remaining in Here, but it had taken so long for that day to come they sometimes wondered if it ever would. After a year, they had grown complacent; after two they had ceased to wait for the day. But it had come after all, and now they were alone.

"When did you find out?"

"Yunjin told me they went out to Ciara's gravesite. She said good-bye, and then she was gone. She was here longer than any of us, except you. It feels more wrong without her than when the others went to their homes."

Nick nodded, but stayed silent for several minutes. He had made peace with Dagny about her decision over a year ago, but she would always be his first love and the one that got away. A world without her didn't make sense to him.

"I'm happy for her," he said at last. "It's what she wanted more than anything else."

"And we know that Blaine will be there to look out for her no matter what."

It had been a struggle for Nick and Hana to accept that they could never know for sure that their friends were happy and healthy on the other side. Some things, Hana had declared, you have to take on faith. So they chose to believe that Blaine, Jeff, Kurt, and Dagny would find each other on the other side and be as close there as they had been in Here.

"Now what do we do?" Hana wondered.

"We keep going. You'll be graduating into the main company in a few months, and because you've been the only female lead among the students for four years – and, yes, you detect jealousy there – you'll get starring roles in no time."

Hana smiled ruefully. "How wonderful for my career. I meant personally. What do we do with our friends gone? I can't bear to just go make new ones. It feels too much like we're replacing them."

"Me too. But I think it's what we have to do. Some friends stay with you forever, but others don't. Whether they had stayed or not, losing friends and making new ones is part of life."

"I will be your friend who stays with you forever. Whatever happens in our crazy new world, we will always have each other," Hana promised.

"Forever. I like the way that sounds."

Nick's large hand covered the delicate hand resting on Hana's knee, a silent comfort that words could not convey. They had lost so many friends to the departures, and new friends they made would leave them too. Theirs would be lives of loss, and maybe the only constant would be each other.

"I think we'll be all right, and I think they'll be all right," Nick said.

"We're all exactly where we're meant to be."


	68. Fifty

**FIFTY**

Over the next week and a half, Blaine settled into his new life with much help from Kurt.

He had to begin physical therapy again, and Briony came through once more by speaking to Blaine's new doctor on the phone and smoothing over the ruffled feathers that accompanied not having a full medical history for his new patient. Kurt took him shopping for the essentials of teenage life on this side of the barrier and taught him how to use the new gadgets. George started driving lessons in the family station wagon with the promise of buying Blaine a car just as soon as he stopped jumping curbs.

The biggest challenge, however, came fifteen days after he returned home: Blaine's first day at William McKinley High School.

His lack of school transcripts had sent Principal Figgins into a dither, but Mary calmly suggested just giving Blaine placement tests until she could get his home school records in order, which meant forging them. As an attorney, Mary knew a thing or two about official documents. His scores were off the charts, but Mary enrolled him as a junior anyway for "socialization" purposes.

Because he didn't have his driver's license yet, Kurt picked Blaine up before school on Monday morning. Blaine was still having a love affair with the plentiful supply of hair gel this side of the barrier, but Kurt thought it was cute how attached his boyfriend was to hair products. He had also recently been to the optometrist and put in his first pair of contact lenses in four years.

"You look nervous. Don't be. The FBI scared my bullies into submission. You're still going to be bottom of the social ladder because you're in glee club, but even the cheerleaders and football players get the occasional Slushie facial," Kurt said.

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?"

A party waited at Blaine's new locker when they arrived at school. Tina greeted Blaine with a fierce hug, and Mike waited to shake his hand and welcome him to McKinley in a more sedate way. Brittany had made a construction paper welcome card with a rainbow-colored unicorn on the cover. Artie came over to introduce himself too when he saw Blaine.

"Thank you guys so much for welcoming me so warmly. I really miss my friends every day, but knowing I have new friends here means so much to me. I just know we're going to have a great year together."

Brittany gave Blaine another hug. "I have to go meet Santana, but I'll see you in glee."

Blaine hardly felt like a new student at all, aside from getting up in front of the class to introduce himself every hour. He had at least one junior glee club member in every class, which made passing periods less lonely.

"So you're auditioning for glee?" Artie wanted to know.

They were on their way from second hour History to third hour Literature. Blaine had only caught a glimpse of Kurt as he hurried from French to the Home Economics classroom in the back of the school.

"Yeah. I've set it up with Mr. Schuester for tomorrow. I have practice tonight with the band in the choir room. I'm really nervous. You guys went to _Nationals_."

"Haven't you been in like a dozen musicals and a show choir?"

"Oh. I didn't know you knew about that."

"Rachel, Tina, and Brittany all told me. I'll admit that at first I had a hard time believing there was a fantastical world where lost people go to find themselves, but I've been convinced by your unexpected, but not unwelcomed, arrival. Not to mention that the only crazy thing about Kurt is his wardrobe, and you seem pretty sane too."

"Wow." Blaine flashed a smile at the other boy. "That's really great to hear, Artie. I'm glad Kurt and I can share the truth with more people. It's hard keeping something like that quiet, especially when there are still people back there we love and miss every day."

"So you do have professional experience in a musical?"

"More like drama school experience."

"Excellent." Artie beamed up at Blaine and rolled to a stop in front of his locker. "I don't know if you've been told, but McKinley High is doing _West Side Story_ this year, and I am the student director." He paused to bask in the glory of his title. "Since Kurt refuses to even audition for Tony, and Finn is busy working at Burt's tire shop, we're woefully thin on acceptable candidates for the role. Everyone we've seen so far is only adequate, if that."

"Artie, are you asking me to audition?"

"I would get down on my knees and beg if my legs worked."

"Flattering, but unnecessary. I'll audition."

Artie shared the exciting news that they might actually have a viable Tony actor during fourth hour, which meant Kurt came into the cafeteria fully briefed on the possibility of his boyfriend joining the school musical in his first week at McKinley.

"You're certainly integrating yourself faster than I managed."

"Are you upset I'm auditioning?" Blaine worried. "Artie said you refused to try for Tony, which I thought was because you wanted a different role, but now I'm thinking it's something else and I've made a huge mistake even agreeing – "

"Stop!" Kurt raised his palms. "You are allowed to audition for any part in any play or musical you want. I'm wrong for Tony."

Blaine scoffed. "You would be the perfect Tony."

"Says the guy who also thought I would be the perfect Danny Zuko."

Tina and Mike joined their lunch table with trays of food, and Artie wheeled up at the end.

"I still think it's wrong that we're not doing your play, Kurt. I really liked the story, and I wanted to play Dora. Although Rachel probably would have demanded that part anyway, just like she's demanding to be Maria."

"Wait. Kurt, you didn't tell me about this. So you were going to produce your play?" Kurt nodded. "How does one person keep that from happening?"

"You've obviously never met Rachel Berry," Artie answered.

The conversation went back to _West Side Story_, and the fact that Tina wasn't even going to bother auditioning for Maria since she didn't want to make the situation between Rachel and Mercedes even worse than it already was, but she was thinking about trying for Anita. Mike, apparently, wasn't a singer but he was teaching ballet classes to the glee club members who needed help with their dancing after school every day.

Blaine wisely said nothing about the terrible way the glee club were treating each other. In four years, The Wonderland Company had never seen anything like this, but it wasn't his place to point out the dysfunction before he'd even joined. He tried instead to offer a more positive spin on the situation.

"Why don't we produce our musical independently?" Kurt did a double take. "We did it all the time in Here during the off season, and the entire month of December is independent shows. Our set at the Winter Market was amazing."

"It's a little different here, Blaine. We don't have the resources of a theater company to help us, and things here actually cost real money."

"So we'll fundraise or sell ads in the program. We'll find a way to make it happen. Kurt, we came back for a reason. Writing musicals together is what we're supposed to do. Why wait until we get to college or afterwards? We have a libretto and a score. Granted, the music needs a lot of work, but even if it takes us a year, won't it be worth it to make our own work come to life on stage?"

"If you're serious about this, I'd offer my assistance," Artie said. "I really like directing, and _West Side Story _will give me experience that we can use when adults aren't around to supervise and keep us on track."

"You'd probably need a choreographer for a decent musical," Mike chimed in.

"And some female talent," Tina added.

Kurt stared around the table at his friends. They all smiled back hopefully, waiting for his answer. He let out a chuckle.

"We're really doing this? We're starting a theater company, aren't we?"

Excited chatter filled their lunch table for the next twenty-five minutes before the bell rang. Before the end of lunch, a new Wonderland Company had been born with five founding members.

**o o o**

"What is this I hear about you staging a mutiny?" Rachel demanded.

She slammed Kurt's locker door closed, and the boy had just enough time to pull his fingers out of the line of fire. With her hands on her hips and glare directed solidly at Kurt, she missed the dark-haired stranger leaning against the bank of lockers just behind her.

"It's not really a mutiny if we're not encouraging anyone to quit _West Side Story_," Blaine stated.

Rachel sucked in a deep breath and whipped around to shout at whoever dared interrupt her conversation with Kurt. Shock replaced her outrage.

"Blaine? Blaine Anderson?" She looked between Blaine and Kurt three times. "Kurt, how could you not tell me about this? Your boyfriend comes home across a magical barrier separating two worlds, and you don't even mention it?"

"I've told a lot of people. Also, today is Blaine's second day at school. If we were actually friends you would already know that though."

"That's not fair, Kurt! I was considering my future, which you obviously are too since you're in so many dancing and singing and acting classes after school that Finn said he hardly sees you before ten o'clock, and then you lock yourself in your room to do homework or practice more."

"Would you like to be introduced to my boyfriend? Or would you like to try justifying your selfishness a little more?" he asked coldly.

Hurt flashed across Rachel's face. She put on a brave face and held her hand out to Blaine. "Rachel Berry. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Blaine. I just want to say welcome home, and I hope we can be friends one day. I hope we can all be friends."

Blaine glanced over at Kurt, who continued to glare at Rachel. A smile tugged at Blaine's lips. Kurt only wore that look when he'd already decided to do something, but didn't want to admit he'd changed his mind. He'd already forgiven Rachel, even if he wouldn't admit it for a while.

"It's nice to meet you too, Rachel. I'm positive we'll all be great friends." Kurt rolled his eyes and huffed. "I meant what I said, Rachel. We're not staging a mutiny or a boycott of your musical. In fact, I'm auditioning on Friday. We might even be Tony and Maria by the end of next week. We've started a theater company, and from what I hear about your talent, we'd be lucky if you auditioned for a role."

Rachel was thoroughly charmed, and despite the brooding presence of Kurt, she beamed at Blaine.

"Good luck with your glee audition this afternoon. I'll be cheering for you."

After Rachel had gone to class, Blaine leaned against the lockers and grinned knowingly at Kurt. The countertenor stared resolutely forward and twirled his combination for a full minute before he couldn't stand the scrutiny.

"Okay! Yes, I've forgiven Rachel. There's really no point holding a grudge when we're starting our own theater company and producing original musicals. But she is not becoming a principle, Blaine. That gives her way too much power, and I still believe what I said was right. She has to learn to work _with_ a cast before I ever allow her to be in one of our musicals."

"Fair enough."

The easy acquiescence deflated Kurt's rant. "I really hate it when you do that."

"I know you do."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "We're going to be late to class. I'll see you in glee."

**o o o**

Blaine had twenty minutes between the last hour of the day and his audition for glee club. He spent those twenty minutes in the choir room going through the full warm up routine Cillian ingrained in all The Carrollers their first week.

As he played and sang the scales, Blaine's mind drifted back through the last four years. All the people he had met and memories he had made in Here had changed him, but none more so than Kurt. He had gone to Here a scared, hurt little boy and had come home a man. He missed Cillian, Ciara, Soren, Dagny, Nick, and Hana so badly every day, and he would always miss them no matter how many years passed.

Kurt came into the choir room a few minutes early. He kissed Blaine tenderly and wished him luck. Blaine's eyes followed as Kurt made his way to a seat in the front row. The rest of the glee club trickled in during the next five minutes.

This was where he was meant to be, and this was how life was meant to be lived. Sadness was always a part of life, and everyone had to sacrifice to get what they wanted. No one ever achieved happiness by refusing to let go of the past. Blaine had sloughed off his burden, and for the pain of it, he had happiness. He had music; he had family and friends; and he had Kurt.

"All right, everyone," Mr. Schuester said. "We have another audition today. I think some of you know Blaine Anderson? Whenever you're ready, Blaine."

The band already had the music, and Blaine nodded to the drummer when Mr. Schuester had taken a seat among his students. Butterflies erupted in his stomach as they always did just before he began singing, but his eyes locked onto Kurt's before his cue. He saw wonder and love and a faint blush on Kurt's face.

Blaine never turned away from Kurt as he sang from his heart about living a teenage dream.

**THE END**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I don't quite know what to say in this final author's note to you. "Thank you for reading" doesn't begin to cover everything I'm feeling. I've written several drafts of this final note over the past few days, but it's only now just before I post that it's really hit me we've come to the end.

I have never written a story this long or spent so much time with one group of readers, and you are such an incredible group. I am immensely grateful for every alert, favorite, review, message, and recommendation I have gotten from you. Every day, you made me feel incredibly privileged to have such generous and responsive readers. I was proud of this story before I posted it, but your reactions have made sharing it such a wonderful experience.

I am going to miss you all so very much. But ... _I will never say good-bye to you!_

There will always be more stories in the future, and I would be incredibly honored if you chose to read those as well. An author alert or a follow on Tumblr or Twitter will give you those notices when I'm about to begin posting a new story. And in the mean time, I sincerely hope you take me up on my offer to message me here on the site or Tumblr. Nothing has made me happier than getting to know my readers. You are truly an amazing and unique group.

Until next time,  
>Heather<p> 


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